Athena's Helmet
by Phineas Redux
Summary: Xena and Gabrielle convey a religious artefact to Pergamum, but are challenged by an old adversary of the Warrior Princess's.
1. Chapter 1

—OOO**—**

'**Athena's Helmet**'

**Disclaimer 1:—** MCA/Universal/RenPics own all copyrights to everything related to '_Xena: Warrior Princess_' and I have no rights to them.

**Disclaimer 2:—** This story in no way reflects the plot, setting, or characters to be found in the episode '_Many Happy Returns_', series 6 episode 19, which uses Hermes' helmet.

**Chapter 1 of 4.**

—OOO**—**

"Glad you're back. Thought ya'd got lost in the wilds of Chalcidice?"

"Come on, Xena." Gabrielle grinned at this unjust remark as she walked slowly, with something of a slight limp apparent in her step, along the street beside the warrior. "Chalcidice's my home territory. I couldn't get lost there if I tried."

"So how'd you like your little holiday; all alone; by yourself; not with me?"

"It was great." The blonde-haired traveller nodded happily. "Gods, it was just what I needed."

"Oh, thanks."

"You know what I mean. Don't sulk." Gabrielle patted Xena's hand, like a mother reprimanding her young daughter. "It makes the lines on your forehead stand out."

"Hey! I ain't got frown lines." The tall woman turned on her friend, with a pout. "Though it isn't for the lack of your antics trying ta bring 'em on!"

"Relax." Gabrielle, however, had already moved on to the important topic of the day. "D'you wan'na hear about my journey or not. You'll love it. It was like this—"

Xena smiled gently with an amused light in her blue eyes as Gabrielle continued, blissfully unaware of the dark-haired warrior's inattention. Xena having had to stay in Piraeus* to await a decision about a piece of secret business the women-warriors had been asked to carry out by the Athenian Senate; which was dragging its heels over the matter in its customary manner, Gabrielle had taken the opportunity to go off on her own. She had travelled to Chalcidice looking, as she told Xena, to breathe some home-grown air for a while. She had been away just over three weeks and had returned only that morning. Now she was full of energy, and ready and willing to relate to Xena every last detail of her journey.

"Well, to start with, you were right about that range of hills I crossed to reach Chalcidice, Xena." Gabrielle shook her head at the memory. "Just like you said, it was all swamp on the far side. Took me ages to paddle through the mud and reach dry land. And you know how much I hate mud. Well, anyway, what happened was—"

"Ya know that thing we were asked to do by the Senate, about Athena's helmet?"* The tall dark warrior summarily interrupted her nearly-long-lost friend with innocent brutality, indicating with a pointed finger the rather dilapidated building they had reached. "Well, we gotta meet someone here at this Inn who's finally gonna tell us the Senate's decision about it. Today. Right now, as it happens. Great timing, Gabrielle!"

"What! This dump?" Gabrielle pigeon-holed her memoirs for the moment; but not without an inward decision that Xena was going to get the full un-edited version later that evening, whether she wanted it or not. "Why, it looks as if it fell down—last year!"

"Gods, don't be so-so—Potidean!" Xena felt miffed at this contemptuous disregard for her choice of venue. "Living in a Palace back in Chalcidice all last week, were we?"

"Watch it, warrior." But Gabrielle couldn't help a grin that only served to take the intended sting from her reply as she walked, still limping, alongside Xena towards the entrance. "I've been ridin' a pony with a bumpy spine all day to get here—so I ain't a happy lady!"

As if to add insult to Gabrielle's injury the first person the women saw as they entered the decrepit Inn was none other than Autolycus in earnest conversation with the Innkeeper, in a shadowy corner near the door.

"What'cha doin', Auto?"

"Hi, Xena. I'm just showing the Innkeeper here how to maximise his profits." The King of Thieves blithely mistook her greeting for an actual request for information, then carried on purposefully with his spiel. "So you see, my friend, all that's necessary is for you to add two measures of water to each cask of wine instead of one. That way you halve the amount of wine used each evening, yet gain the same amount of money; thereby eventually doubling your profits. See?"*

"But ain't that illegal?" The Innkeeper seemed less than convinced by this quaint method of enlarging his fortunes.

"That's unfair, Autolycus." Gabrielle sneered outright at the proposal.

"That's criminal." Xena, on the other hand, pin-pointed the crux of the matter with cold finality.

"It's a sort'a hazy area. Let's not be picky, alright?" Autolycus shrugged his shoulders expressively, with a frown of annoyance at all this unfair criticism. "I'm a businessman. Businessmen operate in dark corners, sometimes."

"You'll soon be in the dark corner of a prison-cell!" Gabrielle sniggered lightly, with a hand to her lips.

"No change there, then." Xena sniffed haughtily. "Come on, Gabrielle, let's go eat."

And they passed on austerely into the low-ceilinged dimly lit dining room.

"I dunno why you dragged me to this rat-bag, rundown, wretched ruin of an Inn, Xena!" Gabrielle stared round the dusty interior of the ramshackle structure with a mean dis-satisfied look. "Even if we _are_ to meet a man about Athena's thingummy! Did you pick this place deliberately? 'Cause I don't think much of your taste, lady, not by a long way. Look at the dust. And I've tripped over at least _two_ loose floorboards. This place is a — Gods, look'it _that_! I just saw a rat run along the edge of the wall back in the shadows over there. Hera, Hephaistos, and Loki! That's it, we're leaving."

Xena leaned over and grabbed the wrist of her erstwhile companion as the blonde made a determined effort to rise again from the somewhat rickety table they had just chosen.

"Come on, Gabrielle, let's give the place a chance." The Warrior Princess glanced round, though not without a growing sense of uneasiness herself. "OK, so it ain't palatial—but I'm told the food's the best in Piraeus. Food, Gabrielle! Stews to make your mouth water; fish in sauce that'd—that'd charm a fakir off his column; beef-steaks that melt in the mouth; lovely sweet apple and damson pies in thick soft pastry with lots'a clotted cream that—that just scream to be drooled over. Don't ya wanna do some big-time droolin'!"

"I generally like to do my drooling in a lady-like manner—in a nice clean well-set-up Inn with clean tables; clean cutlery; clean surroundings; and, best of all, clean food that hasn't served as last night's bed for a colony of rats!" The Amazon gave her companion a steady glare from wide flickering green eyes. "This ain't that place, Xena. Let's haul butt!"

"Don't forget about our appointment! At least wait an' try the first course, seeing as I've already ordered it." Xena played her best card, compressing her lips in what she hoped came across as a pout of yearning desire. "Venison broth, Gabrielle! I mean, what could possibly go wrong with venison broth?"

"In a place like this—I hate to imagine." But nonetheless the Amazon settled back on her chair opposite Xena with a disgruntled toss of her head; which would have been more effective if her hair had been longer. "Oh, alright. But I'm holding you responsible. If we both spend most of tomorrow throwing-up don't look to me for comfort, madam!"

As if the whole action had been meticulously choreographed a waiter suddenly materialised out of the dubiously aromatic gloom with a tray on which sat two steaming bowls. With scrupulous care he set them down before the women; placed spoons, wrapped in unexpectedly clean cloths, beside the bowls; then silently vanished back into the heart of darkness that was the far end of the public dining-room.

"Well, umm—I suppose,—." Gabrielle gave the bowl's contents a severe examination; then came to a decision and picked up her spoon. "Doesn't look as bad as it might have been. Maybe it'll be edible."

She followed this faint praise by bringing the laden spoon to her lips and cautiously tasting the thick dark broth. After an instant she smacked her lips; made a wordless noise of satisfaction; and raised her eyes to nod at her co-diner.

"Yeah, quite nice. Seems alright. I'll eat this at least." But an Amazon note of caution quickly exerted itself. "Not that I'm making any promises about the rest, mind!"

Peace and tranquillity settled over the table for a short while; the only sound being the slurping as Xena tucked into what was really a well-made broth. Gabrielle had pretty much given up trying to instil the exotic peaks of aristocratic table-manners into her other half; having long settled merely for the general basics: though watching, and listening, to Xena eating could still be a trial for a gently brought up girl!

Finally Gabrielle pushed her now empty bowl away with a sigh of content.

"So, tell me again, what magical properties does Athena's helmet have?" Gabrielle set her light green eyes firmly on Xena, clearly implying she required an answer.

"None." Xena raised her eyebrows with a show of annoyance as she looked across the table. Gabrielle was still harping on a topic she had first brought up weeks ago, before her trip. "How many more times do I have to say this? None. Zero. Zilch. Tipota. It's just a helmet."*

"You sure?"

"Gabrielle!" The mighty warrior snarled, ever so gently, through clenched teeth. "Are you doing this just to irritate me?"

"No, no, sweetness,—I'm only trying to enlarge my knowledge." The fair-haired Peri pursued her quest for information unfazed.* "You know what Aristotle says—'_facts are what matter most_'!"*

"Dam—" But Xena was interrupted in her appraisal of the great philosopher by a large shadow suddenly looming over their table.

In another moment a strongly built man in dark clothes sat down beside Xena, displaying an air of supreme self-confidence.

With the low late afternoon sun filtering through the dusty Inn windows he was seen at first merely as a silhouette by the women-warriors. Though even from a distance anyone would have realised this man was more than proficient, probably in many things. His face was dark-tanned and straight-jawed, showing prominent cheek-bones and a high forehead with thick dark hair; his frame tall and strong and his expression one of grim fortitude. His eyes were wide and of a piercing intensity, while he rested one hand casually on the gilded hilt of a long sword held in a purple scabbard at his waist. A thin moustache only seemed to add to the rather menacing aura which surrounded him. Allied to which he exuded an air of calm reticence; though his general demeanour suggested that anyone who opposed his plans or attacked him would realise their mistake within moments; moments which, most probably, would be the last of their lives.

He threw back his long dark woollen cloak to reveal leggings of Britannic style, held at the waist by a thick leather belt. He wore a shirt, also of foreign make, in a dull brown colour. His boots were well-worn and black, as were the long leather gauntlets covering his hands. He looked capable and dangerous.

"What can I do fer you, mister?" The Innkeeper spoke warily as he approached the table, one hand holding the neck of a wine amphora by his side.

"Wine. Red. No water." The traveller's voice had an unmistakably cultured foreign accent, possibly from Sparta or thereabouts, but his tone was reserved and quiet. "Greetings, Xena. A long time since we last met."

"_Ave_, Tros." Xena used the Roman word with a slight smile, as if she knew it would annoy the man. "Gabrielle, let me introduce an old acquaintance—Tros, of Samothrace. We had a history, some years ago."*

"Oh, Gods!" Gabrielle muttered this quietly as she took in the man opposite.

Something, she could not tell exactly what, made her dislike him on sight. Perhaps this had to do with the curious look of superiority in his eyes as he gazed straight at her without embarrassment; as if challenging her to break eye contact first.

Noticing this Xena leaned over and shoved her nearly empty soup-bowl across in front of him.

"Losing that scrawny beard you used to have hasn't improved your looks much! Are ya hungry?" Her lips twitched in an open sneer. "Maybe you can finish this at another table, if ya don't want to eat with us women! Or do you have something to say of interest?"

"Ha! As cold and unsubtle as ever, eh?" Tros's eyes, of amber-gold, examined her intently; seemingly reflecting both approval and contempt in equal measure. "If I have shown less regard for some women—and you—at times than perhaps seemed polite, it is only that _they_ served me dishonourably. If so, why give them friendship—where only a cur's betrayal is to be expected in return?"

"You ain't much good at making friends are ya, Tros!" Xena shook her long black tresses. "Having known you in the past I can honestly say there's snakes I've met I'd rather call my friend than you!"

"Snakes? Or Romans?" Tros's query was accompanied with a curl of his lips that made his implication plain. "You seem much more cosy with the latter than I remember from times gone by. Especially the Senate members on the hill over in Athens. And so you end by becoming the messenger-dog of Rome!"*

There was a tense silence around the table. Xena merely looking with contempt at the large man; while Gabrielle gazed from one to the other, trying to measure the level of antagonism rapidly increasing between the two adversaries. It was clear to the Amazon that the Senate's wishes regarding Athena's helmet were not, after all, quite the secret they ought to have been. The question that then intrigued her was—just what relevance did the object have, for this strange man.

"If this is a conversation anyone can join in, could _I_ just ask a simple question?" Gabrielle's voice had started quietly; rapidly slowed in pace; and taken on an ominous harshness that caught Xena's full attention, at least. "_First_; who are you? _Second_; what business is it of yours, prying into our affairs: even if you used to know Xena. _Third_; our friendships, or not, with whom we please are no damn concern of yours. _Fourthly_; if you don't start bein' more polite to Xena what's there to stop me transfixing your feet to the floorboards with my sais? _Fifthly_; there's a door over there. From where we're situated it's called the exit—use it!"

For a fraction of time a look of astonishment might have been supposed to have flickered across the man's tanned face; then Tros pulled himself together and transferred his attention from one known warrior to the, now suddenly revealed, other warrior. He slowly, but carefully, appraised the slight form of the woman across the table. Petite in size, but well-muscled and strong in body; staring at him now with a gaze that could be seen to exude the authority of a leader; her leather top barely covering, indeed seeming to enhance, her surprisingly richly-proportioned figure; one hand invisible beneath the table, and the other lying almost gently spread on the tabletop—fingertips barely touching Xena's own hand set resolutely beside hers; and in her posture all the controlled intensity of a tiger about to spring. After looking once more from this vixen-in-human-form to Xena and back again Tros, metaphorically speaking, backed-off.

"By Caesar's grief! You choose your companions well, Xena." He nodded, almost appreciatively, at the blonde-haired woman opposite him. "An Amazon, eh? I should have realised the moment I set eyes on you. I blame this dark hole for my mistake. So the Senate have given orders that you, Xena, with Amazon help must take Rome's gift, Athena's helmet, to Pergamum for the Festival? How quaint."*

"Just wha—" but Gabrielle was quickly interrupted.

"Neither of us know what you're talking about." Xena dismissed the topic with disdain. "Whatever fantasies are deluding you are nothing to do with us. Are ya going to use that door over there yourself; or do ya want me to help you?"

"Almighty Zeus! It has indeed been too long since I last experienced your company. You have a personality that—shall we say—makes its presence felt!" Tros suddenly leaned over the table with both his hands widespread. "The Senate, Rome's snivelling guttersnipe, wishes Athena's helmet sent to the Pergamum Festival in a few weeks time as a mark of respect. To Pergamum, where the citizens are not only life-long slaves to the dominance of Rome; but where their fathers and mothers, and grandfathers and grandmothers and even further back, have all licked the feet of Rome. They shall never see the helmet; not while blood flows in my veins, and I have my crew and my trireme!"

Finally rising he cast a last angry glance at the women and swung on his heel to head for the door. As he approached it the Innkeeper, for no discernible reason, appeared out of the gloom and blundered into his path.

"Imbecile! Go serve the slaves of Rome!"

With one mighty fist Tros grabbed the man's jerkin, lifted him off his feet, and threw him against the nearby wall; causing a storm of dirt and dust to billow through the room. Another moment and Tros had disappeared into the street.

"That maniac has a trireme?" Gabrielle, with tragic brevity, asked the one and only question of any import.

"Yep." Xena admitted the fact with a sorrowful nod, as she placed her hand comfortingly over that of the Amazon. "His very own. All to himself. No-one else's. And he's one of the best seafaring fighters I've ever met!"

"Oh, sh-t!"

—OOO**—**

**Notes:—**

1. Piraeus was the nearby sea-port which served as naval base for Athens, further inland.

2. Athena was the patron Goddess of Athens, represented as usually wearing a Corinthian military helmet.

3. Classical Greeks always drank their wine watered down. To drink it straight was regarded as barbaric.

4. Tipota. Greek for 'nothing'.

5. Peri. A form of benevolent, but sometimes annoying, fairy. Most famous for appearing in Thomas Moore's poem-cycle '_Lalla Rookh_' in the section '_Paradise and the Peri_'.

6. 'facts—matter most'. Not a known quotation from Aristotle—unless it is a lost work, unread since Gabrielle last scrutinised it! Maybe Xena had some slight hand in the scroll's eventual disappearance?

7. Tros of Samothrace. A hero of historical fantasies by the 1930's pulp-writer Talbot Mundy. Tros was portrayed as an enemy of Julius Caesar and Rome, while being a friend of Cleopatra. He was immensely self-confident, but also showed a somewhat bullying and male chauvinistic attitude at times.

8. After Alexander the Great (356-323 BC), Athens ceased to be a fully independent power; and by 85 BC had come under Roman rule. It continued as little more than a Province of Rome from then on.

9. Pergamum, or Pergamon, was an ancient Greek city in modern-day Turkey, in Mysia. It was the capital of the Kingdom of Pergamum under the Attalid dynasty. They were always loyal supporters of Rome. When Attilus III died in 133 BC he willed Pergamum to Rome and it continued as a Province thereafter.

—OOO**—**


	2. Aboard Ship

—OOO**—**

'**Aboard Ship'**

'**Piraeus—Tinos—Lesbos'**

**Chapter 2a of 4.**

"What kinda' boat _is_ this?" Gabrielle stared dubiously around the cluttered deck.

"It's a liburnian." Xena spoke off-handedly, being more concerned with their luggage of which they each had two heavy bags as well as various other items.

"Ha! A liburnian." The doubtful Amazon voyager continued to examine the vessel unhappily. "That's just a generic name. Covers a multitude of sins. What kinda' boat is this really?"

Her voice had risen as she became more grumpy and a short thick-bodied man standing nearby now stepped up to their side on the busy deck.

"May I introduce myself? Barrius, Master of this ship." He smiled pleasantly at the two passengers, without failing to notice their weapons with his sharp grey eyes. "Yes, she's a liburnian. A nice fast ship. But you're right to say that's just a title. She's really a large pentekontor. I can muster 25 oars a side, single-manned. That will possibly explain the large crew you see milling around, and the somewhat high cost of your voyage. These men don't feed themselves, you know."*

"Talking about that, perhaps we could have a quiet chat." Xena looked ostentatiously around the flat deck which ran the length of the boat, above the rows of oars and their crew. "Somewhere private?"

The master shrugged noncommittally, but nevertheless ushered the women towards the stern where a ladder led them down past the rowers to the lower deck and the passenger accommodation. He took them along a short corridor and into a wide cabin lit by a small heavily shuttered, though now open, window looking out over the stern. Its main furnishings being a large desk set in front of the window, and a bunk set into the port wall with cupboards beneath. There were also a couple of light chairs of Roman design.

"A small place, but I call it my own; at least while we are at sea." The master leaned against the edge of his desk and waved them to the chairs, but only Gabrielle took up his offer. "So what can I do for you? I'm sure you can't complain about the cost of your voyage. After all, the coast of Mysia is a considerable distance away."*

"Barrius, I got a proposition for ya." Xena obviously felt that getting right down to it was the order of the day. "How many other passengers are sailing with us on this voyage?"

The weather-beaten features of the stocky man remained expressionless while he considered this question; then he smiled good-humouredly.

"Well, as you'll be meeting them soon enough I can tell you there are four other passengers." He scratched his stubble-covered chin. "A man calling himself Polycrates of Styra. Tall, middle-aged, wears a dark moustache to match his hair; and speaks in a drawl, with great confidence. Tried to sell me shares in a mercury-mine in Macedonia—but I said no."

"Damn good job, too." Gabrielle couldn't stop herself frowning in anger as she spoke. "You'd never have seen an obol of it again. That—"

"Yeah, yeah—whatever!" Xena butted in hurriedly, to stop any further revelations of their own connection to the King of Thieves. "Who else?"

"A merchant and his young son—going to Mysia for trading purposes." The seaman paused to consider, looking from one woman to the other. "And a lady going to Mytilene, on family business I suppose. That's the full list this trip. So, what's your purpose madam?"*

"I was sorta wondering about your route North." Xena gave a dis-interested shrug, which fooled no-one in the room. "Goin' past Ceos and through the Andros Strait, no doubt."*

"Yeah." The master nodded, raising an eyebrow somewhat curiously. "It is the straightest, most common route to our destination, after all."

"Ah well," Xena nodded in her turn. "that's just the point. Too common—too well-known. If someone, let's say with dark intentions, was to follow or wait for us that's the route they'd cover ain't it?"

Barrius now began to realise that the tall dark woman, heavily armed as she was, had some ulterior motive which could easily affect his voyage; if it had not already done so.

"Dark intent!" Barrius thought about the possibilities for a moment, then eyed Xena attentively. "That's the sorta thing that could turn out nasty for a ship making a long voyage. Perhaps I should think about returning your money, and callin' it quits? I'm sure there are other—more _specialised_—captains who'd be willing to make a deal with you."

"Maybe so—but not as quickly as Gabrielle and I need." Xena glanced at her Amazon companion, sitting quietly listening to the conversation. It always, strangely, made her nervous when Gabrielle was silent! "We don't have the time to wait for a suitable boat or captain. We got a schedule to keep. So, you're here—we're here—this is it!"

"What, then, do you want of me?" Barrius frowned dubiously. "I do not like being harangued by people who know nothing of the sea and its ways. I see you think of taking some other route to Mytilene? Are you aware of the time that would be lost in doing so? The inconvenience to the other passengers? The extra cost. I have to feed and water my crew, you understand."

Xena walked to the rear of the cabin and looked out through the open window. A portion of the wharf with the busy dockside life of Piraeus was visible in the bright sunshine outside, while light reflected glintingly from the green water under the ship's stern.

"Well, perhaps your other passengers aren't so important that a few more days at sea will inconvenience them all that much." Xena turned to gaze at the seated master. "I think an arrangement might well be possible. Ya see it's like this, Gabrielle and I have to be in Mysia within a coupla weeks. Now, I know you could easily be there in three days taking the Andros Strait route, but there is someone—let's call him not quite an enemy, but not quite a friend either—who will try to intercept us if we take the common route. Therefore we gotta be careful, devious—we need'ta take a circuitous route, the long way round, for safety's sake. And I'll pay ya a good price for whatever other route you think possible."

Barrius rose to stand before the tall woman and looked right into her blue eyes. He showed no outright opposition to the deal; but neither did he show any great interest. He laid a hand on the edge of the desk and tapped lightly on the oak surface with his fingers, as if it helped him think.

"You realise I do not lease this boat." He gave a quick look around the comfortable but sparsely furnished cabin. "Neither do I work for a company of merchants. I own this boat myself, so can do as I please—always taking into account the safety of my crew and passengers, you understand. What terms were you thinking of. And you know it will possibly nearly double the length of the voyage—maybe as long as five days."

"300 drachmas—over and above the 25 drachmas we've already paid for our passage." Xena spoke coldly—as if making an offer he could not refuse.

"300 drachmas!" Gabrielle, finally impelled to take part in the discussion, jumped up in an instant—and a tizzy. "Have you gone mad, Xena?"

"Keep your top on, darling." Xena sniffed imperiously; she so couldn't understand Gabrielle's tendency to hang onto the sesterces, or drachmas as it might be, at all costs. "A mere business proposition. Nothing outta the ordinary. It's a fair price."

"A _mere_—a _fair_ price." The blonde Amazon sank back into her chair with open mouth. "The knock on the head you had from that last warlord we fought three weeks ago musta rattled your brains, sister."

"So, what d'ya say?" The Warrior Princess returned to the business in hand; bravely ignoring the ensuing sounds of discontent, outright criticism, and some lethal swearing from other parties present. "It's an offer that'll give ya a good profit, never mind what your ordinary cargo is. What route do you thinks' best, then?"

"I figure the Tinos Strait—North of Syros—would be the best choice." Barrius nodded slowly as he considered this dramatic change in plans. "It'll eventually take us past the West coast of Chios, then on to Lesbos itself. Yeah, that'll be the best way. Alright, I accept your offer. Have you got the money with you?"

—O**—**

"Xena, what do you think you're doing?" Gabrielle was not amused. "I didn't realise we had more money than Croesus himself. I mean, _300 drachmas_! 100 would still have been too much."*

The women had retired to their cabin amidships. It was roomy and positioned on the port side, with a firmly bolted round window which Xena had immediately opened to let in some light. A small table; a couple of chairs; and two bunks were the main furnishings. Most of the rest of the floor space being taken up with their luggage; of which the most important was a loose canvas shoulder-bag containing something heavy. This Xena had placed at the foot of her bunk, and the women now stood considering it.

"It's all on expenses, Gabrielle." The warrior shrugged nonchalantly. "The messenger from the Senate gave us a whopping big money-pouch to see us through, remember?"

"Yeah, but it's still the Government's money, not ours." Gabrielle could always see the downside where money was concerned. "We gotta account for everything we spend, y'know. And 300 drachmas for a voyage from Piraeus to Mytilene that would normally cost 12 drachmas each is going to raise questions, and blood pressures, back in the Senate-House when they find out."

"Well, we'll just have'ta deliver on our promise, then." Xena seemed at ease with how things were going. "No need to panic yet. When Tros hoves into view over the horizon with his trireme, _then_ you can panic."

"Do you believe there's any chance he'll attack us?" Gabrielle frowned as she sat down on her bunk. "I mean, what'd the people on this boat ever do to him?"

"He wouldn't think twice before sinking us and letting everyone aboard swim for their lives." Xena curled her lip in a cold sneer. "If it meant giving the Roman authorities a black eye he'd jump at the chance. He once told me that, while he would never kill a helpless man in cold blood, he didn't think it necessary to find out if someone could swim before throwing him overboard! That being a question between his prisoner and the Gods!"*

After having sat open-mouthed for a few seconds at this awesome anecdote Gabrielle whistled in astonishment; an act which made Xena jump and hold out a hand towards the unsuspecting Amazon.

"Don't do that, Gabrielle."

"Do what? Whistle? Why? Don't you like the tune?" When on a roll the blonde-haired one liked to cram as many questions into a sentence as possible.

"It's a sorta superstition with sailors." Xena raised an eyebrow. "They think it summons adverse winds or storms—so for the Gods sakes don't do it on deck, please!"

"OK, I get ya. But to return to Tros—this is a Greek, an Athenian, business." The Amazon regarded Xena, with an enquiring tone in her voice. "How does he make it a Roman thing?"

"He takes the view Greece isn't much more than a Roman Province these days, Gabrielle. Even you gotta admit that." The dark warrior shrugged. "Tros figures that everything the Greek Senate does or orders is at the behest of the Roman satraps and generals—which isn't far off the mark."

"So, you believe Tros is going to come after the helmet—even if it means attacking this small boat?" Gabrielle crossed her arms over her knees, where she sat.

"Yep, without a doubt." Xena glanced over at the small window. "Somewhere out there he's waiting with his trireme. He's an excellent sailor—my plan to head South to the Tinos Strait is good, but maybe not good enough to fool Tros. He has a nasty habit of putting himself in his opponents' position, and thinking ahead!"

—O**—**

The next day noon arrived under an overcast sky of leaden cloud. There was no rain, but a stiff steady breeze. As this was prevailingly from the north-east, the general direction they would now need to travel in order to reach and pass the Tinos Strait, the captain had deployed his single mast and hauled up its vast rectangular sail. He had brought the oars inboard and the rowers were now resting while Barrius tacked his ship back and forth in long legs—now towards the hazy dark line on the northern horizon which marked Tinos itself, now away south towards Delos, though this distant island was wholly invisible. Gabrielle had been very vocal about this tactic, which she didn't quite understand—especially as it affected her sea-legs which, at this still early juncture, could be categorized as virtually non-existent.

"Back an' forth—towards Tinos, then directly away from Tinos!" The blonde Amazon expressed disagreement with a curled lip, looking at the captain standing stolidly by the side of the rudder-man. "Barrius is spending half his time sailing away from Tinos. How're we supposed to go forward when we spend most o' the time going backwards? You can't deny it, Xena."

While the Warrior Princess struggled to explain the intricacies of the weather-gauge; along with the necessity to veer back and forth at intervals in order to cover distance in a forward direction, courtesy of the wind; and also generally try to beat into Gabrielle's head the simple fact that Barrius knew what he was doing, (and that Xena was quite as sick of trying to explain things as Gabrielle was _actually_ sick, and couldn't she put a sock in it) a call came from the precariously placed look-out three-quarters of the way up the mast.*

"Sail, nor-west. Just on the horizon."

A general rush to the port bulwarks ensued; after all there were pirates in this area—which was a busy traditional sea-lane—and what was Tros to them if not a pirate!

"Can ya make out its size?" Xena called, then glanced at Gabrielle with a frown. "Tros's ship's a trireme, like I said—should have a large silhouette."

"No, too far away. And it's in the shadow of Tinos on the horizon." The man high up above them put a hand over his forehead and narrowed his eyes in concentration. "I can just make out the sail when the ship rises on the swell; otherwise it's invisible against the dark line of Tinos."

"Shouldn't that make its white sail easier to see?" Gabrielle offered this comment with dis-interested innocence.

"What colour is it?" Xena's voice, however, had suddenly taken on a harsh sharpness.

"Dark—dark. I can't see it very well—too far away. But it ain't white. Yeah, it's definitely dark, not white—an' not just dirty, either."

"What's the col—" Gabrielle started to ask her question, but was immediately cut off by Xena.

"Purple. Dark, heavy-toned purple." The warrior snarled through set teeth. "Tros had his sail coloured deep purple to annoy the Romans.* It's their royal colour, y'know—no-one's supposed t'use it except senators and Emperors—so Tros likes to tease them with it. It's him—he's here."

—O**—**

"Can we outsail him?" Gabrielle was hanging onto the bulwark at the bow and staring across the waves to the distant ship now hull-up and easily distinguishable. "Looks like it's only about what, 20—25 stadia away?"*

Just over an hour had passed. With the need to enter the Tinos Strait Barrius had steered his ship ever closer to the dark line denoting the coast of the island in question. Tros, however was between the island and them, steering a more or less parallel course. The high sides and dark sail of his powerful trireme ominously clear.

"He has the weather-gauge." Barrius stood by their side examining his probable foe with keen eyes. "That means he can fall down on us whenever he pleases, and we won't be able to outrun him. Our only chance is to reach the Strait before him—and I don't see that happening. Do you know what his armament is, Xena—and whether he'll use it?"

The Warrior Princess ran a finger across her jaw in a habit she had when deep in thought. She looked first at Gabrielle, then back to the pentekontor Master.

"He has a catapult near the bow, which uses rounded stones." Xena's eyes were fixed on the distant ship as it cut silently through the white waves. "Range of about two cables length—say about 180 feet or so. Then there's several scorpio's—the self-loading sort. Tros has trained his crew as experts in the swift use of those. They can send a continuous fire of arrows across a hundred foot wide front for several minutes at a time—with a range similar to ordinary arrows. And finally he has a variation of a ballista, set near the ship's waist, which he has adapted to fire several spear-projectiles all at once. It fires about 8 spears at a time and has a range of around 200 feet or so. He also uses Greek Fire when he thinks it necessary!"*

"He really doesn't like the Romans, does he? In other words we're doomed whenever he gets within range." Gabrielle ran a hand through her hair in disgust. "That's just great!"

—O**—**

**Notes:—**

1. Chapter 2 '_**a**__**'**_. Yes, yes, I'm cheating! The story is actually going to be slightly longer than I originally intended.

2. Liburnian—pentekontor. Liburnians were a general group of a wide variety of slim, fast, lightly crewed boats depending on oars; while a pentekontor was a specific type.

3. Mysia. The ancient name for western Turkey.

4. Mytilene. Capital city of Lesbos.

5. Ceos, Andros, the Andros Strait; Tinos, Syros, the Tinos Strait; Chios and Delos are all geographically correct.

6. Croesus. King of Lydia from 560-547BC. Famous for his enormous wealth.

7. "He wouldn't think twice . . ." Tros and a follower have just jumped aboard a small boat whose three crewmen oppose them, of whom Tros has thrown two overboard. "_But master, you killed two men!". "Not I, I gave them leave to swim!" said Tros. "They could not swim. They are all drowned, master." "That is their affair. I never forbade them to learn to swim._" "_**Tros of Samothrace**_", _**Chapter 9**_**. **Talbot Mundy. 1934.

8. Weather-gauge. Simply put, if the wind is coming from a particular direction, and a sailing ship is upwind from your own ship then it has the weather-gauge. Upwind meaning the wind reaches the _other_ ship before it reaches _you_. Thus allowing the other ship to be able to easily and quickly drop downwind onto you; while you will struggle to slowly tack up into the wind to reach _it_.

9. Purple. Tros did indeed have a purple trireme sail. The second book about his adventures is actually titled '_The Purple Pirate_'.

10. '20-25 stadia'. 10 stadia=1 mile approximately. (1.609km).

11. Catapults, scorpio's, ballista's. All real Greek/Roman military weapons.

—OOO**—**


	3. The Battle of Tinos

—OOO**—**

'**The Battle of Tinos'**

**Chapter 2b of 4.**

"Well, if there was ever a time for a great plan, that time is now. Any offers?"

Gabrielle's request met with a stony silence as everyone continued watching the ominous bulk of the distant trireme, with its dark sail. It was left, finally, to another spring of knowledge to suggest a scheme worthy of its author.

"Your light pentekontor is shallow-bottomed, ain't it Barrius?" The King of Thieves, living up to his reputation, had materialised at their side without warning. "Tros's trireme must have at least twice the draught. You gotta get past him into the shallow water nearer the shore-line of Tinos—where he can't follow you. Then all that's needed is a swift dash along the coast and out into the Strait an' you'll have a clear run from there. Whad'ya say?"

"That might not be a bad idea—maybe." Xena nodded gravely as she stared across the choppy whitecaps. "Looks like it wasn't such a bad idea after all—bringing you along for the ride."

"Yes, it could work." Barrius suddenly came to life and directed his gaze to the dark mass on the horizon that showed the outline of Tinos. "It's a relatively straight coast-line. There's no real major bays or capes. And the bottom shallows quite far out, overall—lots of sand-banks and bars. He'd definitely run aground, if we can just brace-up and somehow pass under his stern."

"That should be easy enough." Xena had now brought her experience to bear, as she brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "Tack up towards him, as if we're seeking to parley; then drop the wind from your sail, fall behind him before he can react, then out oars and row directly into the wind towards the shore. That'll get him."

"You gotta stay outta range of his fancy weapons, of course." Autolycus, having shed all pretence of his earlier incarnation, adopted a knowing expression; as of an experienced soldier. "He'll no doubt try to use them, given the chance. But I have every confidence in you, captain."

Ignoring this tribute Barrius beckoned his quarter-master across, and within a few moments the lower deck was awash with rushing forms as the mass of rowers jumped to their places. On the open upper-deck Xena Gabrielle and Autolycus were somewhat out of the throng, which allowed them to concentrate on the manoeuvrings of the trireme in the distance.

"So, what's the next step?" Gabrielle looked at Xena enquiringly, but with a calm determination. "We gotta—what? Get close to the trireme—ain't that really sorta dangerous, though? Just what that crackpot Tros wants?"

Xena, on her part, had continued gazing intently across the intervening stretch of sea. Her attention flicking between the dark outline of the distant ship and the coastline behind it.

"We need to cross behind his stern. His bigger heavier trireme should take ages to come about." She spoke coldly, but with assurance. "He'll have the devil of a job veering landwards into the wind and using his big oars in shallow water. He'd be faster in open water, but not so close to land. We can't pass ahead of him because he has the weather-gauge, so will always be able to head us off if we try. But if we get near enough, like Barrius says, we can slip behind him—cross over his course, so to speak—and head into the shallow water where he can't reach us."

"Sounds crazy t'me." Gabrielle shook her head glumly. "A better plan would be good."

"Sounds like madness t'me too." Autolycus snorted his own disagreement as he stood on the women's left, holding a stray halyard. "Why can't we just turn seawards and head for the horizon, leaving him in our wake?"

"Idiot, haven't you been listening at all?" Xena gave the tall man a shove that nearly knocked him down onto the rowing deck. "His sail is far larger; he has many more rowers; and still has the weather-gauge. That means we can steer directly away from him for a time—till he catches us! But if we veer, say, either to port or starboard he can easily head us off. The wind gives him that advantage."

"You mean to say there's—there's oceans of—of _ocean_ out there—here—and we can't lose that ship in it?" Autolycus's tone amply expressed his disgust.

"Now ya got it, Auto." Xena sneered somewhat absently. "Knew you'd get it in the end. Must be all that fish you eat."

Their conversation was interrupted as a group of sailors jumped up onto the open deck beside them to haul on the ropes which controlled the sail on its tall central mast. Barrius didn't make an abrupt change of course directly for the coastline; but instead merely edged towards the distant trireme as if approaching it purposely. Xena and Gabrielle moved further forward nearer the bow, with Autolycus joining them.

"What about night, Xena?" Gabrielle suddenly grabbed the warrior's waistbelt and looked up into her eyes. "He'll never be able to tell which way we're headed in the dark."

"It's only a coupla hours after noon, as it is." Xena shook her head. "There's still about eight hours of daylight left, even with this overcast heavy cloud. Whichever way we go he'll catch us before night. Our _only_ hope is tacking in towards the shore and evading him that way."

—O—

They were closer now—much closer. Gabrielle could see the wine-dark purple of the vast sail that curved out from the trireme's mast; the high side of the vessel; and the three rows of oars, one above the other, lining the whole length of the ship. It was obvious that it also possessed a ram. The Amazon knew this by the curious wave that seemed to precede the trireme's bow by several yards. At this range she could also clearly see the numerous crew on the deck above the highest level of rowers. Also apparent was a heavy square shape towards the foredeck which could only denote a catapult. Gabrielle then looked past the trireme to the coast of Tinos, which seemed now to be remarkably close at hand. There were, perhaps, less than 20 stadia between Tros's warship and the low cliffs and short sandy beaches which now took up the whole view across the northern horizon. She also realised they themselves were rapidly coming into range of the warship's weapons; in fact they would be within two cable-length's in just a few seconds.*

"What's the weapon he has with the longest range, Xena?" Gabrielle tore her eyes from the distant vessel to stare at those on the deck beside her. "Gods, there's hardly more than us three and a few sailors here on deck. Tros must outnumber us by hundreds."

"Maybe a coupla hundred, yeah." Xena had been watching Barrius as he expertly manoeuvred closer still. "The scorpio's will have the longest range, I think. They fire arrows, and can be re-loaded faster than you'd believe. Maybe half a cable-length's range. I hope Barrius has the sense not t'get that close."

"We ain't exactly protected, up here in full view, Xena." Autolycus scratched his chin musingly. "Not that I'm complaining, y'know, it's just that I worry about these things."

Ignoring this remark Xena walked a few paces down the deck, nearer where Barrius stood beside the two men holding firm to the long arm of the rudder. As if understanding her unspoken question the master shouted across the deck.

"I'll make as if I'm going to haul my wind and come-to." He cast another quick glance over the water, estimating distances. "I won't approach closer than another hundred feet—then I'll bring her head round, haul the sail onto the opposite tack; and heave out all my oars. From then on it'll be a race to see if we can avoid his weapons long enough to cut across his stern and make way landwards. My men'll have to row as if a raging Ares is on our tail, though."

"That's just about what'll _really_ be the case!" Xena smiled her cold smile, and looked quickly at Gabrielle. "When Tros realises what's happening he'll be angrier than Ares ever was, believe me."

Barrius waited doggedly while the expanse of whitecaps between the now almost parallel vessels gradually decreased. Decreased, in Gabrielle's view, alarmingly fast. Then he gave a sudden nod to Xena, who immediately walked to the edge of the high deck and, grasping a halyard, raised an arm to wave slowly and confidently towards the other ship.

Gabrielle wasn't sure if she could actually see Tros, standing near the stern of his trireme, across the choppy sea; but in an instant her attention was taken up with a series of unfolding events, all of which appeared to happen at once.

Barrius yelled something incomprehensible; sailors on the deck near Gabrielle hauled on ropes and the great sail ceased billowing with the wind and hung lifeless for a moment before the sailors ran across the deck, hauling on their ropes. With a groan almost of human pain the sail slid round the mast on its angled yardarm; whipped and cracked ineffectively for a moment which seemed an eternity; then caught the wind from the opposite quarter and billowed taut once more. At the same time a single line of oars appeared as if by magic on each side, sliding out almost thirty feet before their scoops met the choppy waves. Then the women and Autolycus felt a jerk and vibration, almost of a living creature leaping forward, as the rowers groaned with effort in a frantic desire to set a fast pace; the oars rising and falling with astonishing regularity, as if the vessel had suddenly come to life and bounded across the waves of its own accord.

Tros already had his oars out, rowing steadily but slowly; enough so to give the trireme a small but significant extra pace to add to the vast purple sail's power as its rounded expanse curved tautly with the energy of the wind behind it. So the trireme was moving unhurriedly, but at a determined steady rate; which, when the small pentekontor unexpectedly hauled its wind and tacked landwards, was the bigger ship's undoing. While the trireme carried on its unwavering way the pentekontor, instead of paralleling it, fell quickly to its rear. Within seconds Xena and Gabrielle found themselves looking across at the other vessel's stern with its rudder, like a giant oar, curving down into the waves behind. Then abruptly the whole bulk of the larger vessel was clearly and considerably in front of the pentekontor's bow.

Barrius shouted again; there was a slight change in their sail's angle; the rowers sped up their stroke-rate; and Xena and Gabrielle held tightly onto each other as the low vessel's bow came sharply round, leaving the trireme now on their starboard side. Its high stern was for an instant directly opposite them with the trireme foreshortened and its rows of oars sharply focussed as they angled far out from the sides of the vessel. Gabrielle thought she caught a glimpse of a tall dark man at the stern waving an arm and shouting soundlessly; then she looked forward and was astonished, and scared, to see the coast of Tinos apparently racing towards them with unbelievable speed.

Something hit the deck beside Gabrielle's foot, then she felt a heavy thump against her side and was dragged bodily down. As she lay breathlessly on the smooth planks she turned her head and saw Autolycus already prone himself, a little way off. Then she glanced the other way and saw Xena lying full-length by her side, with a slight gap between them. As she stared into Xena's anxious eyes an arrow appeared from nowhere and stuck in the plank separating them, while Gabrielle felt the thud and vibration as several others hit the deck around them.

"He managed to fire one of his scorpio's, damn him!" Xena grunted, a moment later, as she gripped the Amazon more tightly still. "I think we're OK now. Outta range again, I hope. Auto's OK, too. Gods, that was close. He don't hang around. Well, at least we know he means business!"

Standing again, Gabrielle saw the deck was littered with what appeared to be a dozen or so arrows, while across the whitecapped sea the trireme was momentarily at a standstill. Its sail hung limp; the oars on the side they could see nearest them were immobile; and the bow had only come round slightly in their direction. As they watched the trireme's port oars once more dug into the waves; at first inconsistently then, gaining their timing once more, with controlled efficiency. In the interim Barrius himself had made all speed to head even nearer the low-lying coast of Tinos. They were now unquestionably between the coast and the trireme, which had become the vessel furthest out to sea. Their relative positions had been reversed, though what the gain would turn out to be was still unknown.

"He's in irons! Ha! Ha!" Barrius laughed deeply and waved his arms happily in the direction of the obviously struggling trireme. "Tried to come about too quickly and lost the wind. He'll need to haul round with his port-side oars, like you see him doing now. Then, when he gets his sail back into some sort of angle with the wind he can sheet-to and catch the wind again. Ha! Ha! The sorta thing an untrained lad'd do who only had a few days at sea. He must have been in a terrible temper to let that happen."*

As he spoke Xena Gabrielle and Autolycus dusted themselves down and looking seawards were just in time to catch some movement near the bow of the distant trireme. Then Gabrielle watched transfixed as a dark circular object curved high into the air from the ship, heading in their direction. Within a second it was lost to view against the whitecaps of the choppy sea then Gabrielle saw the splash and high spray as the missile hit the surface, thankfully some distance behind the pentekontor. The trireme had now brought its head round and caught the wind in its sail again but had lost, and apparently was continuing to lose, pace towards the smaller pentekontor.

"And there, my friends, is a classic example of why a pentekontor can often outrun a trireme." Barrius was certainly well-pleased with the outcome of his exercise in naval manoeuvring. "His impetus was slow, but damned difficult to bring to a stop. Then regaining his forward motion is a damn sight harder than you might think. He's lost so much distance there's no hope of him catching us. Anyway's, we're in shallow water now. He'll have to stay out in deep water to shadow us."

"Is that going to help us in the long run, then?" Gabrielle stared at the captain with a new respect. "I mean, over the next few hours."

"We can run comfortably through these shallows and over the sand-bars without any trouble at all, ma'am." Barrius looked around him with a sparkle in his eye. "Tros can heave as many of those catapult shots at us as he pleases; none o' them'll come close. He'll have no choice but to stay out in deep water, and that means we can shave the shore-line and so cut off the longer route. In about half an hour you'll see the trireme heading out to sea. That's because these shallows and sand-spits run much further out from the coast as we near the angle of the island and entrance to the Strait."

As they spoke another thumping crash was heard over the rapidly increasing space between the ships. Again a small dark object cut through the sky towards them, to be followed by a mighty splash; this time significantly further away than the first. Tros had turned to parallel their course again, instead of trying to head directly towards them. A shadow appeared against the sky over the mid-part of the trireme and Xena and Gabrielle watched as the sea erupted in a seething cauldron of disturbed water somewhat under half a cable-length away.

"Are we going to be able to reach the Strait and escape into open water before he can catch us again?" Gabrielle spoke with some anxiety as she looked at this evidence of Tros's continued anger.

"No doubt of it, ma'am." Barrius's tone was determined as he nodded confidently. "Tros can throw those rocks as much as he wants, we're well out of range. And those scorpio arrows are just as much a waste of his time."

"Tros will have to take the sea route into the Strait." Xena put her arm round Gabrielle's shoulder. "That means sailing a parasang or more out into deep water, and staying there for several more parasangs.* These shallows all along the coast here necessitate that for any deep-draughted ship. We can hug the coastline and cut off a huge amount of distance. We'll be through the Strait before Tros has even brought it into view. You should see him heading out to sea pretty much about now; unless he wants to run aground anytime soon. Look!"

Xena led Gabrielle to the deck's edge, where they could gaze down at the row of oars still digging into the waves with easy power. Gabrielle saw the circles of white as they each hit the surface then, under the rippling water, she glimpsed the cool yellow sand of the bottom running under their keel; apparently so close she might almost have touched it if she had merely put a hand into the water.

"We have a three foot draught, and there's still about two feet more water under us right now. A little less than a fathom in total.* But it'll vary, gettin' considerably shallower in parts as we progress." Xena laughed happily. "Tros has a seven foot draught, and _his_ oars need to dig at least three feet into the water to gain drag; they won't work efficiently in shallow water, like ours can. He ain't going t'get anywhere near us for the next five parasangs or so. Like Barrius says, we'll have reached the Strait and be through it and so far away he'll have no chance to catch us. Then we alter our course slightly when night comes and tomorrow'll see us well over his horizon out of sight, giving him no chance of finding us again; with only the wide blue sea between us and Lesbos! Lesbos, Gabrielle, think of _that_! Lesbos."

—O—

**Notes:—**

1. Stadia. 10 stadia = 1 mile approx. (1.609 km).

2. Cable-length. The definition varied, but the British Admiralty took it as 608 ft (185.32 m).

3. "He's in irons!". When a sailing ship finds its bow headed directly into the wind with sails unable to catch the force of the wind, and the ship has technically stalled and is momentarily, or for several minutes, unable to manoeuvre.

4. Parasang. 1 parasang = 3 miles approx. (4.827 km).

5. fathom. A British fathom varied between 5½ & 7 feet.

—OOO**—**


	4. Mytilene

—OOO**—**

Chapter 3 of 4.

'**Mytilene'**

The mountains of Lesbos rolled away into the distant blue haze under a clear sky. The harbour at Mytilene was crowded with boats of all sizes and nationalities; including many representatives of its own navy. This year the island authorities could boast a grand total of two Quadriremes; four Triremes; and three Biremes available to protect their citizens, and as security for the island as a whole. This incorporated a complete naval grasp of the strait separating the island from the coast of Mysia; their control reaching from Assus in the North to Atarneus and Cyme in the South. The significance of this to Xena and Gabrielle was that the Lesbos navy forces would give them, and all other citizens, protection in sailing from Mytilene to the coast of Mysia. Thus neutralizing any further threat from Tros, at least by water. As a result they had decided to stay over for a day on the island which held both their hearts.

"Has Tros arrived in the harbour yet?" Gabrielle was sitting at a table outside a well-set-up Inn on the main street. "Bet he'll be miffed when he does."

Xena was leaning contentedly against the back of her chair, with long legs extended straight before her. It was still early in the morning, and she was contemplating the empty pewter goblet on the table beside her and wondering if Gabrielle would let her have a re-fill. She somehow thought not.

"Nah. He won't show his face here." The Princess had a decided opinion of the man's personality. "The harbour's too constricted for his comfort. He likes a wide horizon round him. He'll be somewhere out in the strait, swearing volubly at his crew and rueing the fact we escaped him back at Tinos. That'll hurt. What'cha doin' ?"

Her last remark was occasioned by Gabrielle taking a soft leather pouch from the shoulder bag wherein she kept her valuables (or '_all that rubbish_' as Xena was fond of saying) while visiting towns. Now she was busy scattering a handful of loose coins from her pouch across the table-top.

"Counting our worldly wealth, darling." The Amazon financier bowed her head over the assembly of coins in front of her. "You know the old adage—look after the obols, and the obols'll look after the tetradrachms. First, a total. Second, figure out what _my_ cut is. Then, shop till I drop, baby—shop till I drop!"

"Oh, Gods. Don't shout like that. Aphrodite'll hear ya." Xena sat back and raised her eyes to the heavens; though she had been expecting something like this—only not so early."What is there you could possibly buy here? It's an island off the coast of Mysia. Nothing goes on here but fishing an' farming."

"Eight."

"Eight. Eight what?" But it suddenly occurred to the Warrior Princess that she had a good idea what.

"Eight scroll-shops, between the harbour where we got off our ship yesterday an' this Inn." Gabrielle actually clapped her hands in glee, adding a broad grin for good measure. "Eight scroll-shops. So think how many more there must be in the whole of Mytilene."

"What's in the scroll-shops that you're so het up on buyin'?" Xena, though, knew perfectly well what the answer would be.

"Poems, Xena, poems." There was a shining light in the Amazon's eyes as she paused to consider. "Poems in _glyconic_ lines; Asclepiad distichs; 3-line stanza's; _epithalamia_, my favourite type as you know; and lyrical poems."*

"Only poems, dearest?"

The Warrior Princess had decided to accept the inevitable, like floods in Spring. She smirked a little at her excited companion, light-heartedly of course; but Gabrielle was far away in a different world.

"_Sappho._" The Amazon spoke softly, as if intoning the name of a revered deity. "Oh Gods, Xena. Think of that. This is the home of Sappho. And we're here, now. And I've got lots of money. And the scroll-shops are bunged to bursting with every possible edition of her works."*

"An' you figure on buying them all, an' putting the shops out of business for a year afterwards, eh?"

Xena could be cutting when she wanted, but as she had just aimed her sarcasm at a green-eyed warrior with a mission her words fell on deaf ears.

"So, how much money have we between us?" Xena sat up straighter, getting down to the nitty-gritty, and showed her teeth in a little smile. "An' remember, I get the bigger cut, dearie."

Her blonde companion merely sniggered impudently at this futile demand. If there was going to be a cut, that cut was going to be Amazons-3 Warrior Princess's-1, no mistake.

"Well, that's what's worrying me." Gabrielle frowned over the variety of coinage now spread wholesale over the table. "We seem t'have accumulated all the riches of the Indies; not to mention the Silk Road; Athens; and Rome altogether. Look, here's some _denarii_; then that, over there, is a _stater_; an' those little ones are _hektai_; and, of course, these here are _tetradrachms_. An' we have a pile of _obols_, beside you; an' another pile of _sestertii_, beside me."*

"What are those, over there?"

"These silver—thingy's." Gabrielle bent low to study them carefully. "They're silver, er, thingy's. _I_ don't know!"

The Warrior Princess leant over and picked up a couple of the mysterious coins with a horny hand. _Gods, did Warrior Princess's have to do everything in this world._ Then, after carefully subjecting the badly worn items in question to a long and absolutely uninformed scrutiny, tossed them down again.

"Well, er, they might be _shekels_, from the Land of Punt. They look sorta shekely." Xena tried to avert defeat by sheer brazenness. "Remember, we were there last year. Or perhaps they're some kinda _dinar_ from Sheba. We visited Sheba eighteen months or so ago, didn't we?"

"Or maybe they're golden _aureus's_ from the Land of Hy-Brasil." Gabrielle, too, could be cutting. "When were we last _there_, darling?"*

"Oh, come on. I'm tryin' my best here." Xena pouted grumpily though this, as usual, had no effect on the lithe perfectly-formed one. "So, what d'ya think then?"

The Bard of Potidaea hadn't reached her present exalted position without bringing the art of prevarication to perfection. Now she showed her true colours.

"We'll call them _half-staters_. And if anyone argues, whack 'em with your chakram—that's what chakram's are for."

Pleased with this effective, and wholly commendable, solution to their problem Gabrielle began to shove the coins into two separate piles. One of which from the very start, beside the Princess, showed unmistakeable signs of being subservient to its big sister, in the fair Amazon's clutches. Xena noticed.

"Hey. Hey. _Hey_, lady!" She liked to be emphatic in a crisis. "What'cha doin'. Tryin' t'take over the world. Ya got about two thirds of the lot t'yourself. What's up?"

Gabrielle sneered; Amazons didn't take prisoners: well, actually they did—but this was just a hypothetical situation so—Amazons didn't take prisoners.

"Needs must, Xena." Gabrielle tossed her head superciliously. "Let's call it emergency measures. Lesbos equals Sappho. Sappho equals lots'a her poems. Lots'a Sappho's poems equals—I gotta have 'em at any price! So stand outta the way, or be trampled in the rush, sister."

—O—

The late afternoon was cool but still bright. A cloudless sky allowed the waning sun to gild the houses of the city with a faint golden tint which added warmth to the busy crowded streets. Xena and Gabrielle were sitting once more at the same table outside their Inn, watching the passers-by pass by. They had been shopping. Or, at least, Gabrielle had done the shopping; Xena had merely held her back from the more outrageous extravagancies. Now the Princess leant back in her chair and took a fortifying gulp of wine from her full goblet; she needed sustenance. Gabrielle was quite content, gloating over the trophies of her successful campaign against the massed ranks of the Mytilene scroll-shops. It had been a severe battle, but Gabrielle had triumphed over all the odds.

"What'cha got, then?" Xena spoke wearily, feeling it only polite to seem interested. It had been a hard day.

"Whee! What ain't I got, Xena." The Bard was happy. In fact the Bard was ecstatic. "I got everything. Well, to start, see this scroll?"

Xena opened her eyes. She had been leaning back comfortably resting them—merely resting.

"That dirty, ragged, old scroll? Yeah, I see it. Why ya bought it at all's another matter." The dark-haired warrior shook her head. "Waste of two denarii, in my opinion."

"You oughta be happy." Gabrielle sniggered, dearly loving a bargain. "One of those denarii was one of those dodgy half-staters, after all. Did you notice how the shop-keeper was chary of taking it; before you sorta looked at him, with that funny expression?"

Xena shuffled awkwardly; she didn't like being found out in a good deed.

"It's an early edition, from the last century." The happy shopper continued, as she caressed the rolled-up object. "A bit tatty, I agree, but it has a long foreword by Aristotle that most of the modern scrolls miss out. And I like the scribe's hand who copied it. Their style was just so attractive at that period; makes the poems all the more beautiful. Worth every obol."

—O—

The shop in question had presented a somehow wary face to the public. It was found by Gabrielle down a narrow side-street, with only a small sign on the unobtrusive door giving the name—'_Aristeus. Old Scrolls_'. The Amazon had been over the Moon.

"Why should we go in here, Xena?" Gabrielle had replied to her half-hearted companion. "Because second-hand scroll-shops mean bargains, and low prices, and scrolls for practically nothing, and wonderfully made editions that nobody wants anymore; but are still way better than today's tat, that's why."

She had spent the next hour happily scouring the dusty interior; finding her way to cobwebbed corners that even the proprietor had probably forgotten about. The result was a satchel full of precious discoveries; all the more so for being so cheap. At least they had ended up cheap after the owner had finally lost the will to live under Gabrielle's determined bargaining, and taken what she offered.

—O—

Now, sitting at the Inn-table under the waning sun, Gabrielle passed on to the next treasure. After all, part of the joy of a bargain was showing it off to your friends.

"See these six small scrolls?" The Amazon fondled them tenderly. "This is a first edition, from about one hundred and fifty years ago. It has all Sappho's Lyrical poems. The scrolls probably originally had a wooden container like a little box, with compartments for each scroll and written tags giving the titles of the poems in each scroll, and a lid to shut and lock; but that's all gone. Look, you can still see where maybe the original owner marked her name at the beginning of the first scroll. What does it say, it's very faint. '_Alkyone, her book age 22_'. Ain't that kinda romantic, Xena? Makes you wonder who she was, and what sorta person she was; and now they're ours."

"Whoop-de-doo!"

"Come on, Xena. Don't be so blasé. You know you love Sappho, just like me."

"Sorry." The Princess was instantly contrite, knowing Gabrielle's real affection for the poet. "Yeah, I even have a couple'a her works off by heart. Just two or three verses. Well, I do!"

Gabrielle, of course, insisted on evidence of this remarkable assertion; and when Xena there and then softly declaimed with deft simplicity a complete short poem perfectly, Gabrielle didn't hesitate but leaned over and kissed her tenderly; there at the street-table in front of the Inn.

—O—

The night was clear and cool. They had left the shutters of their room open to let in the scents and quiet sounds of Mytilene's night-life. There was a peaceful hush, except for the distant hooting of an owl somewhere far-off over the rooftops.

Xena had stowed away the shoulder-bag containing their precious cargo in the deep drawer of an antique chest on one side of the room. Now they were contemplating sleep and bed. Xena had already loosened the fastenings of her top and was fiddling with a recalcitrant leather cord.

"So what're our plans for tomorrow, Princess. And for Tros?" Gabrielle spoke off-handedly, as she gazed searchingly at the wide bed which took up most of their room. She was frowning.

"Damn Tros. He's just a bully, with far too big an opinion of his own worth." Xena grunted in the dark. "I can take care of him. We'll hire horses from whatever settlement is on the coast, then head out for Pergamum along the road they've made for travellers. Shouldn't take more than seven days."

"What if Tros follows us an' tries something?"

"Oh, I think we'll beat him; whatever he comes up with." Xena sniggered softly. "Do you think _you_ could beat him?"

"Damn straight, Xena. So, that's your plan, then. Sounds good t'me."

"That's my plan for tomorrow." There came the sound of gentle movement in the moonlit shadows. "But I got plans for tonight too, darling. _Damn_ this cord, I can't get the knot undone."

While the Princess paused, filling the night air with a series of deeply-felt expletives—in four different languages—Gabrielle walked over to the old curtained bed, covered with linen sheets, where they meant to spend the night. It was a four-poster, with a solid oak frame on which was a thick but firm mattress. This last item was exercising Gabrielle's attention. She tested the left-hand side by punching the sheet-covered mattress and giving the oak framework an experimental kick or two; then moved round to subject the opposite side to a similar assault. It creaked agonisingly under the first onslaught, and gave out pain-wracked groans under the latter. Her findings were apparently not good.

"You think we can sleep in this thing, eh, Xena?"

"Why not, it's a bed." The Warrior Princess generally took little note of such things. "_Gah!_ Got it. That's the last time I let ya tie these damn cords, Gabrielle. A girl could take an hour to get back outta them."

"It may look like a bed, but it's really an evil weapon of torture." Gabrielle was not impressed. "We gotta stay in this all night, y'know. It's lumpy; worn-out; an' too firm by half. Gods, I've lain on ground in Sparta that was softer than this mattress. How can a girl sleep in a thing like this!"

"Were we goin' t'sleep? Hi-ho!"

"Come on, Xena, stop with the witticisms." The Amazon had important reasons for her disfavour. "Here I am, in need of six good hours of restorative wanderings through the realms of Morpheus, an' what do I get? A torture-rack."

"Well we can't change rooms now, it's far too late. Past midnight probably."

Xena, still entangled in her bronze-plate protected top, considered the options then walked over and lay down on the object in question with hands behind her head, reclining on the pillow. She made a few tentative movements, designed to test the bounce in the mattress and its firmness. There were some grinding squeals from the works underneath her, then something went '_ping_'.

"OK, OK, ya may be right. But what're we goin' t'do, then?"

"That's easy." Gabrielle smirked with self-satisfaction. "An Amazon's always ready to bend with the wind, an' make new plans at a moment's notice."

"Oh Gods, _You_ got a plan? What sorta plan?" Xena felt a bad case of despondency overtaking her. She knew Gabrielle's plans.

"Oh, yes. This ain't much of a furnished apartment, Xena." The house-proud one raised an eyebrow as she cast a glance round the room; managing to give the impression of sneering coldly, without actually doing so. Xena was impressed. "But that's a fine big comfy couch over there in the far corner, an' I bags it, Princess. I'll need this sheet an' that blanket too. Thanks, I got 'em."

"Oh yeah. Oh, yeah." The Princess could see disaster looming as she rose from the decrepit bed. "What about me? What do I get? That couch ain't big enough for two."

"Well darling," The hard-nosed, and now comfortably established, Amazon cast an indifferent glance at her better half, where Xena stood in the moonlight with hands on hips, tapping one boot impatiently on the floor. "This room does have a lotta floor-space, an' there's still a coupla blankets over there in that cupboard. OK?"

"But Gabrielle, that means we'll be split up all night. I was sorta thinking we might —"

"Might what, Xena?" The Amazon was already curled up sleepily in her blanket cocoon.

"Oh, nothing." The Warrior Princess surrendered, with an unseen pout. "G'night, Gabrielle."

"G'night, Xena."

—O—

**Notes:—**

1. _epithalamia. _An epithalamium (or epithalamion) was a poem written for the bride on her way to the bridal chamber with her husband. Sappho and Catullus are known to have written examples.

_2._ Sappho. Born sometime between 630-612 BC. Died around 570 BC, though personal details are sketchy.

3. All coins named are real types.

4. a) _Land of Punt_. Known as a trading partner of Ancient Egypt, probably located in the Red Sea area. b) _Sheba_. The fabled Queen of Sheba, located probably in the Ethiopia-Yemen area, is mentioned in various ancient texts. c) _Land of Hy-Brasil_. A mythical island said to be located in the Atlantic Ocean west of Ireland.

—OOO—


	5. The Road to Pergamum

—OOO**—**

Chapter 4a of 4.

'**The Road to Pergamum'**

The road leading from the coast up into the mountains of Mysia was not paved like a Roman thoroughfare, but just levelled and cleared with a bare earth surface. Nonetheless it served its purpose; giving an easily usable route to the capital, some distance inland. The lie of the land was mostly scrub bushes with light patches of grass and thorns as the foothills rose towards the mountains. There were some groups of trees, light oaks, ash, and sycamore; and every now and then a respectable wood or two, which looked as if they might, at some close juncture, develop into an actual deep forest. It could be seen that the flanks of the rolling mountains further inland were heavily tree-covered.

The open nature of the land so far gave a fairly wide view in all directions, and it was this aspect of the terrain that Gabrielle was taking full advantage of. She was lying on a handy flat outcrop of bedrock beside the trail. She lay at full length, shading her eyes with both hands to her forehead, and looking back the way they had come; there being quite an extensive view in that direction.

"Whad'ya see?"

Xena stood beside the reclining figure, casually running a small flat stone along the edge of her sword which she held in her right hand. This, as usual, gave the few other travellers and pedestrians on the road second thoughts about either stopping to pass the time of day or attempting something more threatening.

"Nothing." Gabrielle squirmed uncomfortably. "Damn, this rock's hard. I can see a smidgin over two parasangs back towards the coast. An' all I can see is scrub and olive trees, lightly interspersed with handfuls of travellers. Some walking, some in wagons, some lone horse-riders. But nothing like Tros's force of warriors."

"Well, that can't be bad." The Princess mused awhile; pausing to give a young man, who was staring at the recumbent Amazon as he passed by, an evil stare that made him turn pale and pick up his pace considerably. "Means he must be more than half a morning's trek behind, maybe more."

"Ain't Tros a sailor?" Autolycus was holding the reins of his nag and staring gloomily in the direction they had come. "I mean, would he leave his trireme an' slog up into the mountains after us?"

"He's a warrior, a fighter; and a good one, too." Xena shook her head. "He'll be after us, have no fear of that. Somewhere back there, he's biding his time. Maybe waiting for nightfall."

Gabrielle grunted and rose to her feet, brushing her skimpy clothing free of dust. There were, though, smudges on her abdomen and legs that stuck because of the sweat—it being a hot day and Gabrielle perspiring freely. They had been walking over the last couple of stadia or so, to give their rather scraggy steeds a rest. These horses had been bought in Dikili, a somewhat bedraggled town on the Mysian coast opposite Lesbos. The island-ferry, a small liburnian, had made port safely there under escort by a naval bireme. The place was obviously a third-rate dump compared to nearby Atarneus on its towering hill. Gabrielle had wanted to visit the larger magnificent city but Xena had pitilessly rejected the idea on grounds of time and doubt of Tros's whereabouts.* The beasts were neither first class in comfort, aptitude, staying power, or age; but they were the best of the pathetic bunch available. So, after swearing volubly and spitting in the dust at the man's feet who was holding out for a ridiculous price, Xena had finally given in and bought the decrepit animals. '_About as much chance of their taking us to Pergamum as Ares giving it all up for the quiet life and buying a farm in Boeotia_', the disgusted warrior-woman grumbled as they began their journey. "_We'll probably have'ta walk the last day or so_'.

—O—

It was now late in the afternoon and though the sun was still visible the coming evening was beginning to herald a certain advancing gloom: the three riders would have to think about making camp quite soon. Neither Xena nor Gabrielle were happy about stopping at the side of the main road, which was quite busy with numerous groups and bands of travellers; not to mention the many single wayfarers straggling out along the highway: Pergamum being a remarkably popular destination for a variety of people. Autolycus affected to agree, with the air of an old hand well versed in such things.

They had, therefore, left the well-trodden highway to strike along a rutted winding trail; one of many which joined the road thereabouts, that led up into the now quite thick forest which had suddenly swooped down on both hands from the foothills as the road penetrated further into the rolling mountains. It would give them some privacy and safety from casual travellers on the main road, as well as from Tros's forces, Xena had opined,—and who was Gabrielle to disagree! Autolycus grumbled about wet mossy ground under the trees, creepy-crawlies getting into his bedroll that evening, and the odds of a bear turning up in the small hours. The women ignored him, of course.

—O—

The twisting tree-lined track, shaded mostly by high firs and conifers, was dusty and deeply rutted; leading, it seemed, into mysterious unknown regions of the forest. Far along its winding course, still out of sight of the tired women-warriors, lay the abandoned wreck of a small wagon.

It was the perfect place to dump such an obviously clapped-out vehicle, no longer any use for road-driving. One night long years ago someone had brought it on its last trip far along the bumpy shadowy depths of this un-used trail and there left it. One hopes they had some accompanying form of transport to take them comfortably home again!

Left to slowly decay amongst the weeds, ferns, and advancing undergrowth it was not long before the wilderness noticed the unwanted vehicle and began to take it unto itself. Now, where the noise of traffic on the main highway was only faintly perceptible in the far distance, the weeds were growing through the broken boards; all four wheels had long ago given up the ghost, leaning at crazy angles and green with algae and moss; the driver's seat had lost its cloth covering, exposing wholly rotten planks; and the wooden sides had ripped free, fallen off the frame, and taken on a slimy peeling appearance, leaving the vehicle's ribs like a skeleton. From any distance only these were in fact at all visible over the surrounding ferns and bushes. And never a traveller passed by to gaze in amazement at the pathetic wreck from one year's end to another. All it had now were a few more years of quiet decay then—extinction.

—O**—**

They had come to a halt ten stadia or so into the forest where they discovered, to Gabrielle's amazement, the abandoned wagon lying lop-sided at the edge of the rough uneven lane between the thick dark trees. The track widened somewhat at this point, and a little stream flowed by the edge of the track. It seemed the perfect place to set up camp; there was certainly no chance of being disturbed by any legitimate visitor. Xena gave the wreck close attention while Gabrielle kicked some stones into a passable circle for a fire; though her heart was obviously still engaged with the possibility of being disturbed by Tros and his followers sometime in the night. Xena and Gabrielle's horses, along with the scrawny nag which bore Autolycus, were placed under the shelter of the overhanging branches of a tall strong fir nearby; where they began grazing contentedly. Autolycus, surprisingly, made himself useful taking blankets and assorted equipment from their individual saddle-bags. In a remarkably short time he had arranged these around the fledgling campfire in a respectable manner; making even Xena stop to give a word of praise.

"This is old hat to me, girls." The King of Thieves didn't hold back from coming forward in his own commendation. "Years of fleeing from over-anxious share-holders and angry warlords through a variety of forests has given me the capability of an Amazon in woodcraft. Don't worry, I'll see to everything."

"Hah!" The only true Amazon present made known her disapproval.

In return Autolycus merely gave that trademark so-annoying grin, which said as much as here was a man of derring-do and swashbuckling bravura ready for every eventuality; then he hoisted a bundle of blankets and made for the warmest corner by the fire, under the shade of an over-hanging fir bough. The women groaned under their breath, as Gabrielle wondered when the opportunity would arrive to let her tell Xena that it was true—three was always one too many!

—O**—**

Xena pointed over to the decrepit remains of the old wagon when Gabrielle said she was going to search for firewood in the nearby environs of the forest.

"Nah, don't bother. I'll rip some planks off this thing. Way past its drivin' days, obviously." Xena took a long-bladed dagger from her waist-belt as she headed across to the wreck. "Hope it's held together by wooden pegs, an' not rusty nails."

Soon a warm fire was burning, casting wavering shadows under the encroaching trees on either side. It was a clear night so there was no chance of being soaked with rain, though it would probably become quite cold later.

"Ah! This is the life." Autolycus relaxed comfortably, boots close to the low flames. "Toasting your tootsies at a warm fire, with your belly full of roasted rabbit. Good thing you shot that critter earlier, Gabrielle. Gettin' quite good with a bow, ain't cha? Mmm, Elysium."

"Lie down an' get some beauty sleep, Auto." Gabrielle rolled her eyes disdainfully. "The Gods know, y'need it."

"Hey, that's kinda personal!" The K. of T.'s muttered irritably as he nevertheless took the wise advice, stretching his long form out under a thick blanket. "Nighty night,—don't let the bed-bugs bite."

—O**—**

The night was well advanced past midnight, though not altogether pitch-black. A low three-quarter Moon cast a feeble light over the rolling trees of the forest, while countless stars shone overhead as brilliant points in an endless dark canopy. Xena had risen quietly, though her movements quickly alerted the Amazon lying beside her. As Autolycus showed no sign of returning from the Land of Dreams anytime soon—he was snoring, if not loudly, yet with innocent determination—both women slipped away without disturbing him.

Picking a way carefully in the deceitful shadows the pair made their way back down the winding track for some considerable distance. The somewhat rutted lane meandered far too much to be able to get a clear line of sight for more than a few hundred yards, but it was an uphill track, on the rising flank of one of the foothills. So, after a little stumbling, Xena grabbed Gabrielle's shoulder bringing her to a halt where they could look out across the trees and ground below them. This gave a partial view of a good part of the main road stretching out over the uneven terrain back towards the coast, and something there immediately caught both women's attention.

"Lights, lots of them. All strung out in a line along the road." Gabrielle shaded her eyes with a hand on her brow and gazed intently. "Torches, maybe forty—fifty. Gods, he don't do things by half does he. How far, d'you think?"

"I'd say maybe one and a half parasangs." Xena nodded slowly. "About two hours, tops."

"Will he find where we cut off the road to take this lane, Xena?"

"Definitely." Xena glanced at Gabrielle, who was standing beside her tightly gripping the tall warrior's right wrist. "Our three horses must'a made enough sign in the dust an' soft earth down by the road to alert a ten year old girl, never mind Tros."

"So, he's gonna come t'get us?" The Amazon showed no hint of fear in her voice, rather a steely determination.

"Oh, he'll come right enough." Xena snarled like a tiger. "But he won't get us!"

—O**—**

**Notes:—**

1. Dikili and Atarneus were real ancient cities. Their ruins are still extant.

—OOO**—**


	6. The Hills of Mysia

—OOO**—**

'Chapter 4b of—'. **Chapter 6.***

**Measurements of distance:—** Stadia. 10 stadia = 1 mile approx. (1.609 km). Parasang.1 parasang = 3 miles approx. (4.827 km).

—O—

'**The Hills of Mysia'**

"Do I have to?"

"Yeah, Auto, y'do." Gabrielle wasn't having any of it. "Take all three horses—"

"Horses! Ha!"

"Yeah, yeah, Xena,—and head along that narrow track that starts over there by the beech-tree." The Amazon waved vaguely off to the left somewhere. "It looks as if it meanders across the flank of the hill. Probably joins another trail again—maybe something short of a parasang distant, at most. You then go back down onto the main road, an' head on towards Pergamum. Slowly, of course. We'll catch up."

The King of Thieves, rudely—very rudely—awakened to the cold dark reality of the camp from a glorious dream featuring himself and seven—count them, seven—beautiful women catering to his every sybaritic wish (when Auto dreamed he liked to dream big-time), was no longer a happy camper.*

"Track? There ain't no track there." The dark-enshrouded camp was lit only by a single flickering torch. He made a dramatic scenario of pretending to search and gaze around, one hand shielding his eyes; from what neither woman knew. "_That_ break in the bushes—I think a fox made that, or maybe a coupl'a rabbits. It don't go anywhere. And anyway, Tros—"

"Listen, Auto, I'm gonna say this only once—an' you better hear it!" Gabrielle's patience, always delicately balanced, had now definitely handed in its dinner-pail and gone on holiday. "That track—an' this is an Amazon talkin' here, —goes across the hill and joins another trail coming up from the main road about half a parasang away. Push your way through the bushes over there an' you'll see a perfectly clear signposted avenue. Take it. Take it now,—or die horribly!"

—O—

A short while later all was once more quiet around the camp. Autolycus, amid a welter of grumbling discontent and some very fresh language happily unheard by the ladies, had struggled under the low branches of the surrounding trees and started off on his expedition into who-knew-where along the side of the hill; accompanied by the three horses.

"D'ya suppose he'll actually make it back down onto the road?" Xena inclined her head in a way she had when considering a dubious proposition. "He's a little outta his—whad'ya call it,—comfort zone."

"I gave him the best directions. You're talking to an expert here y'know, Xena." Gabrielle was slightly miffed at this indirect criticism. "I bet if you went off on a track like that you'd be lost in under a stadia. An' I'd be creeping along trailing you without a sign I was there, sister. Come on, we got work t'do."

—O—

Between them the Warrior and the Amazon had concocted a very pretty little welcome for Tros and his friends. They had set up a series of booby-traps, using short lengths of rope and twine they brought with them for just this eventuality. A number of virtually invisible lengths of stout twine, stretched across a bumpy uneven trail in darkest night, were just the things to trip unwary persons. Several short but heavy logs, made of fallen leafless branches, were precariously balanced on the ends of short ropes in the nooks of trees above head height. Connected to twine trip-wires low on the ground, these also made effective traps, capable of swinging down and knocking a man off his feet before he was aware of danger.

But Gabrielle had come up with the jewel in the crown; she discovered the old wagon, on detailed inspection, was not yet quite so far gone as it looked. Between them they dragged the two worst affected wheels back into some sort of relationship with their axles; then managed to push the thing a little way into the middle of the trail, its rear facing downhill. As its deck was still just barely able to carry some weight they piled a few short boughs lying nearby on board, finishing with a number of heavy stones. Xena connected two pieces of wood stuck under the rear wheels, and acting as brake-restraints, to trip-wires some way down the trail; using a series of notched pegs stuck in the ground, after which the hopefully-mobile trap was ready.

All this preparation had taken most of the two hours Xena expected Tros's forces to take to reach them. Finally they barely had time left to abandon the camp, leaving a respectable fire innocently burning, and disappear into the encroaching thickets and undergrowth to await events.

—O—

"I can hear them!"

"What? I can't hear a thing." Gabrielle paused to listen intently. "Probably an owl, or something?"

The Warrior Princess wasn't putting up with this mutinous attitude, especially from an Amazon.

"Darling, as you well know I can hear a flea fart half a parasang away when the winds in the right direction." Xena sniffed austerely, making her point. "I am at one with the Universe!"

Gabrielle started giggling uncontrollably. Increasing in volume, this turned into badly suppressed laughter so quickly Xena had to lean over and gag the recalcitrant girl with an open palm tightly pressed over her mouth. Xena could feel Gabrielle's body rocking with amusement as they clasped each other close.

"Mmmmph! Mmmm! Mmphmm—awwf, that's better, you nearly choked me, Xena."

"Serve ya right." The dark one tried to sound incensed, though there was an invisible smile flickering on her lips. "Gods, you're such a trouble-maker. D'ya want Tros t'hear ya all the way back on the main road?"

"OK—OK, I'm alright now." The Amazon struggled to her feet, where they crouched under the branches of a fir. "But what can you expect, when you say something like that? Gods, you've got strong hands, though. You nearly made me bite my tongue. So, Tros is near? How near?"

"Easy—easy, listen. Listen."

The two women stood together motionless. All around was the dark of the forest, with only a few tree-trunks faintly visible in the glow from the now distant campfire. Gabrielle couldn't hear so much as a single bird, deer, rabbit, or owl. The animal life of the region seemed unnaturally quiet, even for the middle of the night. Then she heard something too.

"Gods, what was that?" Gabrielle leaned forward, as she instinctively tried to feed all her senses into listening. "Crunching—crackling—sorta irregularly. It's faded—no, it's come back, I hear it clearer now. People, coming up through the forest—quite far off yet. They're not all using the track—they're coming up through the undergrowth and trees at the side of the track. Crafty."

"Think we oughta go further into the forest, away from the track an' camp." Xena touched the Amazon on her shoulder. "We need'ta be some way off when the fun begins. These trees aren't big or strong enough for us to climb and use as ambushes. We'll run in from a distance. Y'know,—quick in-an'-out sorties."

Gabrielle nodded understandingly. She was used to this kind of action from training with her tribe.

"Harass them a piece at a time." The Amazon grinned, she could do this in her sleep now. "Knock a few on their heads, but not to really hurt 'em. Let the booby-traps take care of the majority. Then we make a break for the road in all the confusion."

"By the time Tros has sorted himself out again it should be more or less dawn." The Princess grinned wickedly. "He won't come rampaging along the Highway after us, then. That'd just fall into the hands of the Pergamum army units that patrol the road all the way to the capital. I don't think he'll follow at all, in fact."

"This is just a one-off attack by him?" Gabrielle nodded, after some thought, while she continued to listen in the dark. "He's come this far from the coast and his trireme; but he don't intend to be dragged unwillingly further into the interior, where his small force would be at a disadvantage. He'll have no choice but to return to his ship after this abortive raid, while we go on to Pergamum. I like it. How far off is he now? Four-five stadia, d'you think?"

"Yeah, about that." Xena tightened her lips and spoke in a whisper. "C'mon, let's move a little further off. We can decide which groups to attack when the booby-traps knock them sideways. Won't be long now."

The Warrior Princess took her blonde companion's wrist gently as they both softly faded back into the darkness of the deep forest.

—O—

Tros had experienced a bad day; and this night, halfway up a dark uneven forest trail, didn't look as if it would improve on matters. Firstly, the harbour-master at Dikili had insisted his trireme should be charged port rates equal to a quadrireme; then he had to leave most of his trained loyal crew with the ship, because he didn't like the general atmosphere around the dingy harbour with its crowds of shifty insalubrious hangers-on; then arguing with local horse-dealers for mounts for his remaining group took most of the morning; and finally he had been stopped twice by Pergamum army patrols on the main road asking what in Hades he was doing with a minor army of his own. And although he had spun them a fine story Tros, strangely, never liked outright lying at the best of times.

No, it hadn't been a good day at all so far. He could not bring provisions, or equipment, or reserves of water; they had to stop several times to replenish water-bottles and refresh the horses at streams, and there was only a finite distance he could follow Xena along the road to Pergamum. If he did not find her within a day's march he would have to admit defeat and turn back. Tros was a man who _never_ admitted defeat; and turning back was a command he had never been known to give in his entire career. He wasn't going to start now.

However, it was dark; he and his crew were nearly a day's march from Dikili; and they just could not progress further. If this minor trail up into the heavily-wooded mountain did not, in fact, conceal Xena then he would have no alternative but to return to his trireme. Tros was, if not actually enraged, at least rapidly losing his patience by this point.

"You had better be right about these signs, or I will break your head for you." Tros never liked to molly-coddle his men; if they did their job to his high standards, fine; if not he taught them the error of their ways with his fists. Simple, and it did wonders for discipline.

The tracker; actually he was a liburnian crewman with a sideline, looked even more nervous than previously. But, obviously taking the line that he might as well be killed for a bull than a billy-goat, the man stuck his chin out and tried to look Tros in the eye. Not an easy task at the best of times; and not helped by the cold, darkness, and general air of nervousness emanating from everyone except Tros himself.

"Three horses, sire, like I said when we entered this trail back down at the main road." The tracker tried to sound confident, though his obvious misgivings made his voice quiver. "Heavily laden. Two men an' a woman. At least, that is, two big solid people an' a slighter built person. Look'it the footprints, sire."

As with all these sort of broken trails heading up the sides of hills or mountains; especially those passing through heavily wooded areas, the track tended to act as a sort of outflow for minor streams coming off the sides of the mountain. Therefore the earth surface of the track was soft at best, and decidedly muddy in many places. At this point, quite well advanced up the trail, there were a perfect set of imprints extending for a few paces.

"I am not quite blind yet, imbecile." Tros was only partially placated; after all they still had to reach the travellers within a reasonable time. "How old are these prints? How far ahead are they. Well! I asked a question. Give me your answer."

"Not more than three hours ago." The flustered tracker was not actually certain, but knew the importance of appearing confident before Tros. "They can't be more'n twelve stadia, or maybe half a parasang, ahead. Considering the track goes steeply uphill, an' is all broken an' uneven, sire."

"Humph! Kleon, choose three companions and hold the horses here." Tros had decided the time had arrived for positive action. "The rest of you follow me on foot. Ennaeus, take ten men and edge up through the light trees and undergrowth on the left of the track. Diokles, the same on the right of the track. I'll take the centre of the path, with all the others."

There was a pause while they sorted themselves out into the appropriate units then, just before they set off, Tros called for silence as they all stood in the surrounding darkness; the trees vague walls of blackness on either hand.

"Listen men, our objective is the Helmet of Athena. It is of great significance to those pathetic Mysian slaves of Rome in Pergamum. I do not intend they should ever see it. Xena, you all already know of. But realise this, I am a better warrior than she; I am a better fighter than she; I am a better tactician than she; I out-number her by far; and lastly she is merely a woman, who holds no threat for us. Come, let us battle her; defeat her; gain the Helmet, and go home victorious! Follow me!"

—O—

**Notes:—**

1. 'Chapter 4b of—' Oh bother, I started out thinking this would be a 4 chapter story—how wrong can you be! Please re-number this as chapter 6, (and the previous chapters in logical order, if you copied them and are wondering what the— is going on), and we'll carry on from here.:)

2. sybaritic. Sybaris was an ancient Greek city in Southern Italy. Its citizens, Sybarites, were stereotyped as lovers of pleasure and luxury.

—OOO—


	7. An Amazon in the Night

—OOO**—**

Chapter 7.

'**An Amazon in the Night'**

Tros had led his men some distance through the darkness further up the mountain track, and in doing so had already suffered his first casualty: one of his men had slipped on the treacherously uneven rock-strewn surface and broken his ankle. This, Tros couldn't help thinking, was not a good omen; before he remembered he didn't believe in omens.

Although outwardly he kept up his usual attitude of determination and bravado, inwardly he was less confident. Always someone who judged his chances realistically, he had no illusions about attacking an Amazon camp in the darkness; even though there were only a couple of the women warriors. Tros knew how expert, and dangerous, Amazons could be. He also knew exactly how dangerous Xena was. Something told him this ensuing phase of his plan was not going to be a walkover.

"Both of you!" Tros tapped two scruffy sailors on their shoulders with his clenched fists; the impetus just short of actual blows. "Each of you go to Ennaeus and Diokles. Tell them to stay level with me. Not to get ahead and lose contact. Go!"

"Will _we_ hold back while those on either hand close in on the camp from the forest, sire?" A lieutenant by Tros's side was braver, or more foolhardy, than his compatriots. "Or will we dash straight in?"

"Good question." Tros merely nodded calmly, though his brow was furrowed in thought. "We go straight in. I intend to over-run Xena and her pathetic companions before they know we're anywhere near. The helmet will be with her, of course, so we shall triumph in one single move. Now, no more talking. Silence, till we near their camp."

—O—

"It was a great idea, giving Athena's helmet to Auto. Keeps it out'ta reach of Tros." Gabrielle whispered in Xena's ear, though hardly loud enough to be heard even then. "It'll be safe with him. Wonder how he's gettin' on, battling the undergrowth and creepy-crawlies?"

"Swearin' foully at both, I'd say." Xena's low harsh chuckle sounded far too loud in the absolute silence surrounding them. "Gods, it's dark. The Moon don't make much difference under these thick trees."

"That's all to the good, Xena." Gabrielle took a swift glance upwards, through the branches of the tree they crouched under. "The great thing about darkness is it seems to quadruple the number of your unseen attackers. In a short while Tros will think an entire army's attacking him—which is just what we want."

They were close enough for their bodies to touch each other, though both were more intent on listening. Nothing broke the silence around them; no animal or bird rustled in the canopy overhead, or through the bushes and ferns; there was no crunching of light-hooved feet over the dry leaf-strewn floor of the forest; only a few moths flickered round their heads for a moment before disappearing again; their flight as imperceptible as a ghost, only seeming to make the enveloping silence around them even more silent.

"At the first sign of Tros's approach you dart across the track to the opposite side." Xena was going over their plan for the umpteenth time, but better that than making a mistake. "You know the booby-traps there?"

"Course!" The Amazon allowed a note of determination to enter her voice. "I placed most of them on that side, remember? I added a few surprises my tribal-sisters showed me, when you were busy further up the track. Nothing too bad—just enough to make some of them limp for a few days."

Xena looked at her companion for a moment, with an unseen glint of respect in her dark blue eyes.

"Is this a bad—a very bad—Amazon I see beside me?"

"Too right, Princess." Gabrielle showed white teeth, in what Xena hoped was a wide smile. "In a little while that jerk Tros will discover just what being an Amazon means. An' those other jerks with him are gonna wish they'd stayed in their couch's, truckle bed's, chaise-longue's, or whatever it is they sleep on aboard ship. What we've got waiting for them'll give 'em nightmares for years, I bet!"

Far off, down the track, came a sudden break in the silence. It was nothing much; probably some awkward sailor brushing past a bush too quickly and disturbing a dry twig or branch. But it was loud enough, though still distant, to be heard distinctly by the trained ears of the waiting women.

"This is it, Gabrielle. Go!"

"Good luck,—but I know you won't need it. See you later, Xena."

There was the softest possible murmur of movement; no twigs snapped; no branches creaked; no stones rattled; but both women had disappeared in opposite directions; leaving the silence to take possession of the forest again, for the time being.

—O—

Tros, as his men edged carefully through the dark beside him, was quietly considering the next step in his plan after gaining the coveted helmet. He had thoughts of taking it to the shores of North Afric, perhaps near Lepcis Magna; thereafter to enjoy himself making rude gestures of defiance across the breadth of the Mediterranean in Rome's direction (he had simple tastes, when all was said and done).*

The moon had helped them see their way so far, but it had drawbacks. The faint silvery light had the effect of making shadows where there were no obstacles; of defining faintly a bank of fern which turned out to be impenetrable gorse; or gleaming on apparently smooth surfaces which, when stepped on, showed as rounded stones or uneven crumbling ruts. In effect the moon's light had considerably slowed his men down, as they steered around its many dangers. It was at this point that, without warning, the long-awaited action began. Tros was later to give his opinion it was not so much action as an irate Nemesis, waking up from a dream of righteous vengeance against peoples unknown, and casting retribution wholesale around her—simply because She could.

There was a sudden crackle of splintering wood; a thump; then a loud sustained scream of agony.

"_Aaargh!_ My leg's broke. _Aiiee!_"

_So much for surprise_, Tros thought, as he darted over to his left hand where the noise came from. What met his eyes was a man crouching on the ground with one leg up to the knee in a hole which had been expertly concealed beneath scattered fern and twigs. As his friends pulled the whimpering soldier free it was obvious to all he did not exaggerate—his leg was indeed broken.

"Someone stay here with him; the rest keep a sharp eye." Tros pursed his lips tightly. "They know we're here. They've made traps for us. Keep an eye on the ground; I don't know how much further up the trail their camp is. But remember, this is the only way back out for them; we still have them trapped. Let's go."

A simple command to give, but one not easy to obey when all around you evil spirits are rising from the ground to attack viciously and without warning—at least that's what it seemed like to the suddenly distraught sailors. Being sailors they were never generally at ease on solid earth; and now this very ground appeared to have come to life and turned against them.

There was a rustling of broken twigs; a _whooshing_ noise as some kind of missile passed overhead; and a horrible crunch as it connected with someone's head.

A sailor, this time on the right of the trail, had actually been lifted off his feet and cartwheeled in the air before crashing to the ground; an unmoving battered wreck.

"Look-out! It's coming back. Get out'ta the way."

Hearing this yell from an invisible sailor's throat everyone instinctively crouched down: everyone except Tros, who stood foursquare against this latest threat. He had leapt a few strides towards the fallen man, and saw a dark object curving through the air towards him. Leaning swiftly aside at the last moment Tros caught the thing as it whistled past, taking a step back as its impetus pulled against his grip.

"A stone!" He called out to re-assure his companions. "A stone tied onto the end of a rope, He must have set off a trigger-line across his path. Another trap. Be careful of the bushes and trees and branches from now on."

Tros could see his work intensifying considerably as they came closer to their destination. The thought passed through his mind that he had possibly under-estimated his Amazon opponents. But he had no time to reflect on this rare lapse.

—O—

Gabrielle was ensconced in a particularly thick group of bushes, watching silently as Diokles himself walked past within an arm's length, suspecting nothing. The Amazon's real interest, however, was focussed on those shuffling along behind their leader. She waited till the majority had passed then, moving with unerring swiftness, darted out to grab the legs of a straggler.

He was face down on the ground before he knew what happened; and, after a silent sharp blow to the side of his head, was quickly in no condition to think about anything for a while. His attacker slipped ghost-like away, leaving no trace, just as another sailor stumbled on the scene.

"Agrias, is that you? Get up. _What in Hades!_ Diokles! Diokles! Man down here!"

The end-result of this little incident worked out just as Gabrielle had hoped. Diokles came back to investigate. The rest of the men, now nervous, lost that first edge of sharpness and began to mill around with their guard dropped. The outcome was never in doubt; several more booby-traps were set off in terrifying sequence.

"_Crunch! Yeeaagh!_"

A short thick pole, covered by loose bracken and set-off by the slightest pressure on a delicately set bark pad underfoot, sprang up from the ground and hit a man where it mattered.

"_Whiiimph!_"

There was an explosion of debris and loose leaves from the forest floor; a twisting silhouette; and a sailor hung by his ankles, his body swinging on the end of a rope attached to a high branch: his head barely off the ground.

"_Scriinch! Aiiyee!_"

Someone had found another deep concealed hole with his left leg, suffering the same result as his earlier unlucky colleague.

"_Wheeeesh!_"

The most dangerous trap yet was set-off by a now terrified idiot losing his mind and running full tilt through the trees towards his mates. His outflung arm brushed against a curiously-tensioned low branch as he passed by. From somewhere to his right instantly came a horrible _whishing-thishing_ sound, and a handful of arrows shot through the trees at leg height.

Three men went down; two with arrows in their thighs, one in the shin. The sound of terrified screams, and pain-wracked cries, filled the darkness. Diokles knew in an instant his part of the advance on the Amazon camp was finished.

"Stand still. Everyone stand still, don't move anywhere!" He tried to regain control of the few men of his detachment still on their feet. "There's too many man-traps. Let's get back out of these trees onto the trail. Follow me—carefully."

Gabrielle smiled tensely as she silently slipped through the undergrowth, keeping low; passing several men within a body's length, though they never knew it: except for the last man.

"_Screesh! Auurgh! Unngh._"

Gabrielle had shot upright; grabbed his waist-belt and shoulder, and dragged him to the ground in an instant. A handy rock, well embedded in the ground; a tight grip on the back of his neck; and a firm thrust forward resulted in a satisfying crack. By the time, seconds later, a sailor returned to see what had happened to his mate only a motionless unconscious body was to be found. Gabrielle had disappeared, like a vengeful wraith, into the dark night. Diokles' squad had been decimated, and was now a spent force.

—O—

Ennaeus was suffering just as badly in the trees of the forest on the left of the trail. Xena was in her element. The undergrowth and low-hanging branches restricted her back-flips and forward-leaps; but she had developed a very nice line in darting through the trees; hitting an unsuspecting victim on the jaw; and disappearing swiftly. Already three sailors had suffered this undignified conclusion to their military careers; and the Warrior Princess, with a bloodthirsty grin which boded ill to anyone who crossed her path, was now slinking through the bushes intent on greater worlds to conquer. _Gods, so this is what Alexander felt like!_

Her speciality trap, a horizontal log tied at both ends and ready to swing down from a point high above the forest floor, was awaiting its moment; it didn't have long to wait. Xena gave one of her banshee-like screams; dashed forward to appear from nowhere beside two stragglers of the main group and cracked their heads together resoundingly. When one miraculously managed to stay on his feet she unceremoniously punched him in the gut so hard he folded like a broken twig and slumped gasping to the ground. Xena accompanied all this with a series of battle-cries intended to do exactly what they did achieve: scare the Hades out of all the remaining sailors struggling through the trees.

These men, separated from their leader Ennaeus and lost in the darkness; a darkness which seemed suddenly to be peopled by an entire tribe of ravening harpies, ran in a disorganised group towards where they thought the open trail lay. But to do so they had to negotiate a thick clump of young oaks, and here disaster awaited them. Or rather, Xena's little secret. One man, leading the throng, cried out and staggered forward; having tripped over a thin rope set barely above ground level. Several of his comrades came up with him, as he cursed and scrambled for his footing, and so they met their fate together.

There was a roar, as of a mighty storm lashing through the tree-tops; a rush of wind curiously like to a scythe laying waste in a wheat-field; and then a speeding black shadow descended from somewhere far up in the dark reaches of the highest branches. A long heavy horizontal mass, which the harassed and wholly confused sailors barely had time to recognise as a thick log swinging on two ropes, swept down hitting the group fair and square. The result was a pitiful shambles. It was a long log, and took out five men in its pendulum-like progress. They were flung into the air like puppets, to fall amongst those others beside them. Virtually the whole remaining squad collapsed in a writhing heap.

Several had broken ribs, or ankles, or heads, or arms. Those few not actually maimed were lying on the ground gasping for breath, having been knocked down by flying victims. One unfortunate sailor, clearly not a fellow of the greatest intellect, dragged himself gasping to his feet to stand tall and stolidly amongst the mayhem; intent on berating in the fullest terms his erstwhile comrades for their stupidity. At which point of course the scythe-like suspended log, having done its duty and comfortably reached its apogee, now felt it only right to confirm the Laws of Gravity and head back to its nadir. In short, the forgotten log whistled purposefully down from its highest point and took out the cursing fool and another limping idiot who had joined his comrade. One was knocked sideways amongst a patch of ridiculously prickly gorse; and the original victim, not even having time to rue his decision to stand up, was thrown through the air a good twenty-five feet into the wild heavy undergrowth; never to be seen by human eye again. The log; now obviously considering its purpose in life happily fulfilled, came to a halt on its quivering ropes amid a scene of utter devastation: and if ever a now finally inanimate object could be said to grin, that log was laughing uproariously.

—O—

Xena stood behind Ennaeus.

Though he didn't at first realise this; he was too busy peering into the impenetrable darkness of the forest from his position amidst some straggling bushes on the edge of the trail; wondering what horrendous punishments were being meted out to his men to make them scream so loudly in the lonely night. Then he made the biggest mistake of his long career; he turned round.

It is not often a man has the honour of actually facing Nemesis in person. The Goddess usually acts at a distance, causing events to overwhelm those who sustain her righteous anger. Only on rare occasions does She make a personal appearance; and now, here in the blackest night and alone, Ennaeus instantly knew he was facing his own made-to-measure Nemesis.

"Hallo darling,—Sleepy-time!"

Xena grinned malevolently as she spoke; an act which would have petrified most men into terrified immobility: but Ennaeus did have back-bone, if not technique. Gritting his teeth he threw his right fist round in a swing that had felled bigger heavier opponents than the warrior-woman in years gone by; but the years _had_ gone by for the Greek sailor.

Xena easily parried the right-hook with her raised left arm, then carried out her special one-two-three attack. A punch to the man's forehead that stunned him instantly; another to the gut that bent him forward with a gasp of out-rushing air from his lungs; then, as he painfully tried to stand upright again, a blow to his jaw delivered with all the reserve power in her right fist. There was a horrible crack as his jaw broke, and the sustained impetus tossed him head over heels into the nearby ferns like a sack of turnips; where he lay, barely conscious, with just about as much viable intellect remaining to him as those unjustly derided vegetables.

Xena vanished into the shadows amongst the trees with a low whistle on her lips—_Gods, it's so true, if ya gotta do a job, make sure ya do it right!_

—O—

Tros may have been beginning to think he was being unnecessarily punished by the Gods—but he had not yet met Gabrielle in all her fury. That was just about to change.

All contact with the sailors on the right and the left of the trail had been lost. There were various crashes and screams echoing through the dark night, but no sign that his forces were succeeding against whatever odds they faced. Only the band of thirty or so sailors alongside him on the open trail still seemed to be an active group, for what that might be worth. Over the last frightening space of time Tros had considered the possibility Xena actually did have a band of Amazons with her after all; _I mean,_ he thought, _how else could all this apparent mayhem be going on—and what the Hades was happening to his sailors?_

Gabrielle was a trifle, some twenty yards or so, ahead of the group of men struggling up the uneven stony trail. For a moment, as the moon gleamed from behind a cloud, she saw the tall form at the head of the shadowy group. With the speed of an antelope, and with unerring aim, she slipped a sai free from her boot and launched it silently at her target.

But luck was not on her side. An anonymous sailor, pursuing some unknown aim, stepped in front of Tros just in time to receive the long-bladed dagger in his thigh. The prongs on the weapon stopped it from penetrating deeply, but it was still damned painful; and he let everyone know this.

"_Aiiiyee!_"

"Fan out! Don't move in groups. Don't go in the trees." Tros tried to cover all eventualities as he crouched low, peering ahead up the trail—seeing nothing. "I don't know how many there are out there. We'll move forward, quickly. Don't go into the trees, even if you hear any of your mates calling. That's an order!"

Gabrielle, in this short interval, had slipped nearer. As the advance guard of the frightened men passed she leaned out from the protection of a thick bush and grabbed the waist-belt of a straggler on the edge of the group. To his mates he seemed to vanish as if taken by a God; two men cried out and, instinctively disregarding their leader's orders, jumped into the undergrowth where they had last glimpsed their mate. The leading sailor saw a motionless form lying on the ground an instant before something very heavy connected with the side of his head: he didn't see anything else for several hours afterwards. The second man, brought up short by the sudden collapse of his companion, only vaguely registered a short figure materialising right in front of him. Before he could react a swiftly moving shape came in from his left and Gabrielle's well-aimed punch took him down like a felled ox. _Gods_, she and her perfectly-honed shoulder muscles knew how to deliver a real blow when it was most needed: then,—she wasn't there anymore. When an angry Tros sprinted over to the scene all that remained were scattered unconscious bodies.

—O—

Xena, having completed her short but highly enjoyable rampage in the trees on the left, now sped through the undergrowth to come out behind the dis-organised men struggling on the open trail. Something was up, causing harsh shouted orders to reverberate along the barely seen track and echo back from the depths of the encroaching forest. Xena crept up to the rear of the now irregularly grouped men. Their concentration was wholly directed ahead, so her task was easy.

She stepped up behind a somewhat isolated group; grabbed their necks and head-butted two men together; punched another, standing to the left, on the jaw; bent down to let an approaching opponent from the other side fall over her; then jumped into the air in a expertly-timed forward flip, her boots kicking no less than three men's heads as she passed overhead. Crashing to the ground beside four others she took advantage of their absolute shock to punch one in the gut, with intent; thump a second with a clenched fist on top of his head, dropping him like a broken doll; haul another's arm round behind his back in a move which dis-located his shoulder, as evidenced by the resulting scream; then took time out to grin savagely in the face of a young sailor, the only survivor. He didn't survive long; Xena grabbed his shoulders and gave him an Amazon kiss—a head-butt forehead to forehead—which laid him out straight like a tree falling in the forest: that youngster, on recovering, never could abide tall dark-haired women for the rest of his life!

By the time Tros reached the rear of his group to bring help there was, again, only the debris of a past battle to be seen. He gritted his teeth in frustration, realising that things had gone from bad to worse; and trying to remember what necessarily followed at this point in a disaster. He was just about to find out.

—O—

Gabrielle, meanwhile, had run back up the trail and was now standing beside the waiting Juggernaut of Retribution which had earlier been the abandoned wagon. She checked the brake-blocks on the rear wheels were set correctly, then stood listening intently to the ongoing cries, crashes, and screams coming from lower down the trail. What she was awaiting was the signal from Xena that Tros, and his remaining sailors, were in the best position for the final assault. The wagon, though slightly decrepit, was still strong enough to withstand this its final brave act in life.

Out of the echoing night suddenly came a cacophony of cries and shrieks, followed by indeterminate sounds; mainly thumps and the crashing of destroyed undergrowth and bushes as a minor battle carried on unseen in the dark shadows. Then came the signal. Gabrielle grinned widely as the unmistakable sustained cry of an ecstatically triumphant Warrior-Princess rent the night air.

"_Alalalalalaeeee!_"

Bending in one fluid movement Gabrielle dragged the brake-blocks free, and jumped hastily aside. Without a moment's pause the wagon trundled down the trail gaining an amazing amount of speed over the uneven rutted earth as it went, considering the heavy load of branches and boulders Xena and Gabrielle had managed to load onto it. It passed from the blonde Amazon's sight like an avenging Demon rushing to smite it foes, then for what seemed an eternity there was almost silence.

"_Crash! Sceeech! Aiyee! Aaarrgh! Eeeyai! _"

The sound as the rolling vehicle met its demise was like a volcano erupting. The first massive thump as it impacted the still closely-grouped sailors was followed by the tearing sound of wood and axles and wheels ripping apart in a whirl of destruction. Then there came a fading rumble as the debris scattered further down the trail or into the surrounding trees and undergrowth. It was only after this the cries of the wounded and of the survivors began echoing up to where Gabrielle stood; and from the sustained level of the whimpers and moans now easily audible Gabrielle recognised the success of the late wagon's achievement. Tros's assault force was now a broken reed.

The blonde Amazon, a slight smile hovering round her lips, slipped into the dark depths under the trees. She knew exactly the direction to take that would allow her to meet up again with Xena, further into the impenetrable forest. Then a short walk would bring them to the other trail, a parasang or so further on, which would lead back down onto the now safe road to Pergamum. The road where they could catch up with Autolycus, and the helmet of Athena.

"_Gods,"_ Gabrielle thought, wiping a light sweat from her brow as she moved swiftly onwards under the arching branches overhead, _"I wonder if Xena enjoyed this as much as I did?"_

—O—

**Notes: —**

1. Lepcis Magna—or, Leptis Magna. Originally Carthagian, it later came under the rule of the Roman Empire, though remaining nominally independent. The city is located on the north coast of Libya, and still boasts one of the most spectacular and unspoilt groups of Roman ruins to be found in the Mediterranean.

—OOO—


	8. Pergamum

—OOO**—**

Chapter 8.

'**Pergamum'**

Pergamum. At last, Pergamum. Worth both the journey and the struggle.

The city itself lay sprawling across the wide flat floor of an extensive valley surrounded by high rolling grass-covered mountains. And on the slopes of the nearest mountain, towering over the city—the Acropolis; greater even than Athens, some said.

Unlike Athens however the Acropolis of Pergamum sprawled up the side of the mountain on several levels. On the lower slope was a retaining wall, like the defensive fortification encircling a city; brutally strong, and cut with deep niches as if made to receive the gigantic statues of gigantic Gods. Then, slightly higher, was the Theatre, with its steep rising tiers of benches in a wide oval. The spectators, in their seats, having an unobstructed view out over the rolling valley and city below.

Above all this, on the pinnacle of the mountain, rose the Temple of Athena; whilst off to its left hand were the various other buildings of the complex, lesser Temples, bureaucratic and public offices of various kinds. And the whole complex was thick with crowds, mingling and intermingling in groups of various sizes as they wandered throughout the maze of structures. On a lower slope, just above and to one side of the Theatre, was the greatest architectural feat of the Greek State, the Altar of Zeus.

Xena and Gabrielle had left Autolycus down at the Inn where they had taken rooms and walked up to the Acropolis, where they soon found themselves on a wide square in front of the impressive Altar facade. Gabrielle was full of amazement.

"It's not an altar at all." She gazed at the mighty edifice in awe. "It's a Palace!"

"Yep, looks that way." Xena glanced at the crowds milling around them. "Seems a popular place. The altar's in a courtyard behind the main block, I think. This is only the front, y'know."

Where they stood, off to the right-hand side, they had a perfect view of the colossal nature of the facade. The Altar wasn't merely a columned Temple portico with a small altar in front; it was a mighty building in its own right. At ground level a huge wide flight of stairs rose steeply some thirty feet in height. On either hand of which were towering marble-walled substructures which also rose the full thirty feet, giving high vertical walls on each side of the stair. These supported a single story building faced with a row of columns, which also ran along the whole width of the top of the stairs, so connecting the wings. This was actually a columned colonnade; a walkway roofed and open on both sides, supported by columns. It was through the colonnade at the top of the mighty stairway that the actual Altar of Zeus sat, in an open courtyard of its own; again surrounded by a four-square columned colonnade. The greyish-white marble of the edifice glowed with light in the morning sun.

Where Xena and Gabrielle now stood they also had a good view of the carved frieze-panels which adorned the flat frontages of the two opposing wings on either side of the staircase. These showed larger-than-life representations of Gods and Goddesses doing battle and taking postures of appropriate God-like strength and power. The whole structure was built of a slightly grey marble and presented an aura of massive strength, energy, and beauty.

Now, on the second day after their arrival, Xena and Gabrielle were the centre of attention. The Senators and Priests had already previously put together a plan for the advent of the sacred relic, whose imminent appearance they had received news of through secret Athenian messages. So, with the coming of Xena and Gabrielle, a well-oiled bureaucracy had swung into action. The crowds of sight-seers had been corralled behind ropes to either side of the grand stair. On the flat terrace before the steps were gathered a formidable group of the high and the mighty of Pergamum aristocracy and Priesthood. This was a big event, and they meant to honour it with the best they could offer.

Gabrielle held a leather bag in her hands; the straps falling to either side as she embraced it tightly in her arms; the heavy contents making it quite a struggle to hold for any length of time. A large, well-fed balding man in the red-lined toga of a senator separated himself from a group of high-ups and came across to meet the women.

"Greetings, I am Quintus Acilius Lepidus, Senator and Priest of Zeus." He nodded affably at the women, seeming proud of his part in the unfolding ceremony. "I shall have the honour of accompanying you both to the Altar of Zeus, and the High Priest. We shall have to climb the stair and enter through the colonnade above. Please follow me."

At this point Gabrielle noticed for the first time that the stair, bounded on either hand by high walls formed by the projecting wings of the building, was lined with yellow-clad female acolytes, one on each step. They wore linen chitons which fell to their feet in flowing lines. At the top of the steep stair Gabrielle could now see a further line of women, dressed similarly, awaiting their arrival.

Seeing the blonde woman's interest Quintus paused to turn and smile at his visitors. He didn't seem in any hurry to continue the ceremony.

"They are young priestesses of the Cult." He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Xena. "For the first five years they wear yellow chitons, then change to white. There is quite a waiting-list for new entrants, I may tell you. While we are here may I point out the view. From these steps you have a wide panorama of the valley and city beneath us. Quite spectacular. Come, let us proceed."

The Senator was not joking. Gabrielle had turned to gaze out over the terrain below, and it was indeed wonderful. The entire city of Pergamum was laid out like a model far below, with the rolling grassy mountains forming a stunning backdrop. But there was no time to drink it in, the Senator was now three steps above them and moving like a chariot at full speed. Obviously his bulk hid an athlete's staying power. Gabrielle jumped the intervening steps in a couple of strides, rejoining Xena who merely gave her a snide glance, with arched eyebrows, as they carried on at the Senator's side.

Then they passed through the waiting line of acolytes and stood on the pavement before the columned colonnade. Now they could pause to get their breath, and fully admire the view across the valley. To their right were the curving ranks of the theatre and its seats, built into the side of the mountain. To their left were a few small buildings, and in front was the most spectacular view yet of the valley and city.

But behind them; defended by the intervening colonnade, was their goal—the Altar. Following Quintus through this roofed entrance they found themselves in an open courtyard surrounded on all sides by the encircling colonnade. The floor was flat and paved with large marble slabs, free of structures except in the centre where a rectangular altar stood. It was made of grey marble, about seven feet in height, and twelve feet long. There were wreaths of flowers leaning all along its sides, and before the near short side was a golden brazier giving off clouds of incense. Three men stood in postures of grave contemplation around this, one of whom now strode across to stand in front of the women.

"May I introduce Gnaeus Cornelius Bassus, High Priest of Zeus." Quintus was in his element, lowering his voice to a deep baritone for the occasion. "He will be over-seeing the rest of the ceremony. You both may kiss the hem of his tunic."

Xena gave Quintus a cold blank look. Quintus hurriedly turned to Gabrielle who also favoured him with one of her less appealing frowns. Quintus got the message.

"Aah! Perhaps we may dispense with unnecessary elements." The women watched his face gradually turn from red to pink to pale white as he glanced at the High Priest. "Yes indeed, we must, er, press on with the ceremony. High Priest Gnaeus will be glad to take the Helmet now, and consecrate it at the Altar."

Having been the recipient of a knowing look from Quintus, the High Priest though obviously less than pleased played his part manfully and made a sign for his lesser priests and acolytes to proceed with the ceremony.

"It is now time for you to give the Helmet to the High Priest." Quintus nodded expectantly at Gabrielle.

"Oh! Ah! Right!" The Amazon fumbled slightly with the bag she gripped; then after a quick glance at Xena, who simply stood with raised eyebrows and a considering expression, Gabrielle placed the bag on the ground and delved into its interior. "Here we are. Who wants it? Gnaeus? Right!"

Gnaeus could see the growing propensity for things to slip into farce, but his years of expertise came to the fore. He stood back a couple of paces, bowed deeply; then stepped forward with outstretched hands in an unmistakable gesture of acceptance. Gabrielle leaned forward and gave him the heavy Helmet.

The rest of the ceremony was taken up with gesticulations, hymns to Zeus, rhythmic gyrations on the part of the yellow-clad acolytes, and some general singing by everyone present. Most of this went over the heads of Xena and Gabrielle, but they could see that everyone seemed more than pleased with the ceremony.

Finally it all came to an end with the High Priest escorting the valuable Helmet across the courtyard, through the colonnade, and into some dim corner of the building which surrounded the Altar. The ceremony was over. Now came the banqueting.

For this most important aspect of the whole affair a large hall, somewhere to the rear of the main public buildings, had been brought into play. The interior was a huge single room; the building being two stories high with no second floor, so the raftered roof was visible to those sitting at the many couches and tables laid out on its extensive floor-space. The kitchens must have been nearby, for great platters of meats, stews, pastries, and pies were being brought through side-doors by a series of servants as Xena and Gabrielle made their way to their places beside Quintus.

"Gods, I've never seen so much food in one place before!" Gabrielle was impressed, as they sat together at a long table.

"Yeah. Just remember this banquet'll be about fifteen courses long." Xena gave her companion a wary look. "Don't gorge—nibble."

"My table manners are perfect, thank you very much, lady." The blonde Amazon sniffed with regal reserve. "Oh look! Sturgeon eggs. _Hey you!_ Over here!"

Xena groaned.

—O—

The banquet went off successfully, if finishing in the early hours of the morning can be so described. By great good fortune Xena and Gabrielle, as honoured visitors, were given a suite of rooms in a guest house nearby where they wended their weary way after the feast had broken up. Quintus, more than half-seas over but still gentlemanly, gave them a pleasant farewell as he left them at the door. The rooms were well appointed and comfortable, easily coming up to Gabrielle's stringent requirements, and within a few minutes they were undressed and in the wide curtained bed.

It was about an hour later that the warrior Princess felt the need to communicate.

"You awake, Gab?"

Nothing.

"You awake, Gabs?" Louder.

Nothing.

"You awake, Gab?" With a soft dig in the ribs to the silent form beside her.

"_Uuaarh!_"

"Oh! You _are_ awake. Say, I was wondering—" A strain of pleading in her tone.

"_Waaauuurph!_"

"It's like this, darling, I was wondering—say ain't it beautiful tonight?" Xena was a little hesitant about whatever it was she wanted to say—probably as a result of the wine.

Nothing.

"You awake, Gabs?" Another, harder, dig in the side of the motionless form. "The moonlight looks great outside. Wan'na go an' sit on the balcony for a while? It's not cold."

"_Aarrmmph!_"

"Maybe later, then." The Princess carried on blithely. "I was wondering—hasn't it been just great? Y'know, this whole trek from Athens to Pergamum. Quite an adventure, eh? Just thought I'd tell ya I've enjoyed it all, so far. What I'm sayin' is it wouldn't have been the same with anyone but you, dear. Gods, this is _so_ hard. What I'm sayin' is—Gods, I love ya all to bits, an' I'm glad we're together, an' I never want it to end—ever! So there!"

The warrior Princess, having got this important message off her chest, leaned over, delicately brushed the short blonde hair aside, and gently kissed the neck of the Amazon. Then the warrior quietly lay back, smiled tenderly to herself and closed her eyes. Soon she was sleeping the sleep of the true lover.

Time passed.

"_Aauurgh!_ Wassat?"

The blonde Amazon jerked awake and sat up in bed, the linen sheets falling to her waist. As usual she slept naked, and the moonlight glimmering through the tall open window caressed her form in gentle waves of silver light. Her strong jaw and smooth forehead; hair now bleached to a pale white in the moonlight; shoulders like a marble statue in their square strength; breasts curving in full mounds, half shadowed in the pale light; arms strong and well-muscled; Praxiteles himself would have given his fortune to sculpt her. Gabrielle appeared, in the glowing pale moonlight, as a personification of Beauty itself.

"_Uuurph! Gruuaf!_" But she was only half awake, if that.

She gazed around, through drooping eyelids, wondering what had woken her. She saw the sleeping form of Xena by her side, comfortably wrapped in the top blanket. Gabrielle immediately grabbed a corner and pulled it back over her side of the bed. The far window was open and letting in the full light of the half-moon. The rest of the room lay in quiet shadow. The minimal part of Gabrielle's mind that was aware decided there was no danger, and switched off again.

"_Uurrmph!_"

The Amazon lay back down, automatically pulled the warm blanket over her bare chest, gave a contented sigh, and was asleep in seconds.

In the room all was still. The shadows quietly went about their business of making everything look more romantic than chairs with piles of clothes, abandoned boots on the floor, and tables and wardrobes with half-open doors had any right to be. The moonlight swept through the window, shimmered across the floor, and draped itself comfortingly and lovingly over the two sleeping forms: and all was silent and peaceful.

—O—

"It's, er, like this.—" Quintus stopped, clearly embarrassed by what he had to say.

It was the late afternoon of the day after the banquet; which everyone seemed to have survived without visible effect; and now Xena and Gabrielle had been summoned to a meeting in one of the many Public Offices scattered across the Acropolis. It was a small room, with just a few chairs and a central table round which everyone was now seated. The two women, Quintus, and Gnaeus the High Priest—looking much more relaxed and easy-going than he had the previous day.

"So? What's the problem?" Xena, in these circumstances knew it was always best to cut to the action. "Ya want us to do something for you?"

"Er, yes."

"Well, spit it out. We won't bite. At least, not without reason." Xena had a habit of saying things, which she immediately countered by some off-hand remark that sent shivers down the spines of her listeners.

"_Aurumph!_ The thing is—" Quintus, taking his life in both hands bravely carried on. "We are all most grateful for the efforts you have both made in transporting the Helmet from Athens to Pergamum. Most kind of you. Except—we wonder—that is—"

"You want us to do something more for you. Is that it?" Gabrielle, who couldn't abide dithering, pinpointed the crux of the matter. "OK. What is it? We're on a schedule, y'know."

"There is a further task, involving the Helmet, which we feel you are both extremely well-qualified to undertake." Gnaeus showed himself far more forthright than his subordinate. Now he sat forward, fixed the women with a steely gaze, and finally came to the point. "You have brought the Helmet to Pergamum, at great personal danger—which we are all very grateful to you for. But Pergamum is not the true home of the Helmet, _that_ lies in the Temple of Athena at Assos."

The women sat silent for an appreciable time, drinking in the possibilities of this remark. It was Gabrielle who stepped up to the line first.

"Assos! That's parasangs away." The Amazon mused for a moment. "Across the bay, on that pinnacle of rock—mountain-top. Has a wonderful view, so I'm told; though we've never been there."

"It has a great view of Lesbos, just over the Bay." The warrior Princess put her obol's worth in. "I _have_ been there."

"Oh! You didn't tell _me_." The Amazon gave her partner a forlorn look, then broke into a wide smile again. "Lesbos, eh. How far away?"

"A pentekontor could take us there in, say two hours." The Princess drank in the sparkle of light that reflected from those gorgeous green eyes. "Dump the Helmet in the morning; be on Lesbos in the afternoon."

"It's a deal." Gabrielle had turned to Gnaeus and nodded her blonde locks with all the authority of she who made the decisions. Xena merely gazed at the ceiling non-committally.

—O—

They both stood on the wide stone-paved wharf of the minor coastal town of Dikili once more. Three days had passed by and here they were again, on the shore of the sea. Gabrielle held the leather bag with the Helmet, groaning every now and then with its weight. The warrior ignored her.

"So, we're going to have that splendid liburnian all to ourselves, courtesy of Gnaeus? That's sweet of him." Gabrielle stood, rather uncertainly, gazing at the low swift-looking boat tied up beside them. "_Um!_"

"Fifty oarsmen; wind spot on for direction and just the right strength; waves calm and smooth. Nice tall mast and wide sail." Xena knew what worried her friend and tried, in her own way, to calm the lithe blonde. "Yup! I should say we'll be across the Bay in a day's sail. Nothing to it."

"You're ignoring something, O wise one!" The Amazon turned to look at the leather-clad warrior. "Tros!"

"Ah! Tros!"

"That's his name. Glad you haven't totally forgotten the fool." Gabrielle's tone now became cutting. "Lem'me see, points to remember about Tros—he's a cunning bastard; he knows how to run a ship; he has a one-track mind; he despises you, Xena; he wants that Helmet come Hades or high water; an' he's waiting in his personal trireme somewhere out in that Bay there, for the first sighting of any suspicious boat. That liburnian there, Xena, is a suspicious boat! He'll be on our trail before we've made a couple of parasangs over the Bay, an' you know it."

For answer the warrior Princess turned to the Amazon, and slowly bared her teeth in a wide vicious grin guaranteed to freeze the blood of anyone on the receiving end—except Gabrielle, of course!

"Oh Gods! The Princess has a plan!" The Amazon stepped onto the two angled planks giving access to the boat and strode aboard. "I knew it! I just knew it! I did!"

"Move that beautiful ass, babe." The Princess sniffed disdainfully. "Behold! The Queen of the Seas is coming aboard! If Tros chases us, he'll be history!"

"Oh, Aphrodite's Pearls!"

—O—

**Notes:—**

1. The Altar of Zeus, or at least the entire frontage including the staircase, side-wings, friezes, and the columned colonnade above, all survive intact. The renovated building has been moved and is now on public show in the Pergamon Museum, Berlin, Germany.

—OOO—


End file.
